Resent
by Dearlybeloved'93
Summary: Post NM-5 Yrs. AU Hybrid Vamps: "He is not my father." My nostrils flare in blatant scorn. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no father." *Hiatus begins now. See author page for details*
1. Appointment

I own nothing written by Stephenie Meyer. I'm just playing in the universe she created. The present date for this story is October, 2010.

Beta's: Arizona Hale (EDIT: March, 2012) and Project Team Beta.

* * *

Prologue:

Life is full of surprises, and I don't mean the sweet, hallmark kind. I mean the kind that knocks you in the nuts when you least expect it. And like a punch to your balls, surprises end in the same way; with you confused, breathless, in pain, and on the ground in a fetal position wondering what you did to deserve this.

What can I say, I'm a pessimist.

...

Each tick echoes incessantly in the tiny room. I look at the clock again: thirty minutes left. Thirty minutes before I can say goodbye to Mr. Flannigan's feeble attempts at dissecting my mind and unlocking the emotional treasure trove it holds. Four hours before we can say goodbye to this place forever, the place that has been our home for a year.

Most teenagers would be sad, maybe even depressed about moving, be it because of friends or family they would be leaving behind.

Most teenagers.

I couldn't care less. It's not as though I would be leaving anyone or anything significant behind. It's actually sort of a relief, to be honest. In fact, just the thought of never needing to be in this dingy office or having to be around the jerk-offs that make up the student body and faculty here is enough to make me giddy.

"It's understandable that parents can get on your nerves from time to time, and undoubtedly you had issues with yours. But the thing about parents is that no matter how annoying they could be, we still share similarities with them, even if we can't see it at the time," he says, in that sick, consoling voice. I keep silent. With the crickets chirping, he goes on, "You must have had something in common with one of your parents."

"Nope. Nothing."

"So you don't miss them?" he asks disbelievingly, for the umpteenth time.

I sigh silently. He's probing again. I rake my eyes over the musty-smelling office. The desk still has its standard pile of files that need to be re-copied. His name plate and pens are still neatly placed at the front of his desk. Hell, he still has that awful "hang in there" calendar…

The calendar.

I check the date and realization clicks in my head; Today is October 1st, the "anniversary" of our "parents'" deaths.

The feeling of triumph that comes with figuring out Flan's ploy is quickly dashed by annoyed realization; clearly, Flan is taking advantage of the date, hoping its significance will stir an emotional response, our imminent departure putting him into desperate overdrive.

I guess my behavior this past year would alarm any school administrator. My isolated, brooding demeanor, mixed with my "delinquent" attitude and actions had the school officials treating me like a ticking time bomb, as if I'd be pulling a "Columbine" one of these days. Still, his pathetic attempts to draw out the repressed "trauma" to my psyche infuriate me to no end.

If there is a god, he has a fucked up sense of humor.

"….. Life completely changed, going through all sorts of adjustments, like your sister having to raise the both of you, and not even out of high school herself! Between having to listen to her, take care of Reni, move to a new area, and have to deal with everyone around you questioning your sister's abilities as a legal guardian…" he goes on.

Again, I say nothing. _Let him enjoy the sound of his voice. He's like a broken record anyway,_ I think to myself. I shift in my chair, too subtle for Flan to notice. He may be well-intentioned, but he seriously needs to get a life.

But throughout I can't shake the bits of dialogue that pass through my mind in response to his words.

"_I heard their dad was with the mafia."_

"_She must be sleeping around…"_

"_She's hot as fuck!"_

"_That Tony kid is a bad seed."_

"_They must be seriously fucked up in the inside if they're so pretty and smart on the outside."_

"_They're a family of criminals. Stay away from them."_

My Jaw clenches just thinking about it. The gossip. The _slander._ You'd think in the twenty-first century people wouldn't be so anal about an emancipated 18-year-old, let alone an emancipated 18- year-old taking care of her siblings, what, with all of the drugs, sex and violence shown on television these days. I guess independence, selflessness, and responsibility really _is_ that unbelievable in a teen.

"I can understand you feeling anger towards them for dying, because if they wouldn't have died, everything would be the same as before." I toss a scrutinizing look at him.

"It's not like that."

"Oh?"

"Bella and Reni are all the family I need."

Flan sighs tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose before answering. "Tony, I know this is our last session together, and I'm happy that we were able to make some headway with your anger management, but this past year you haven't once opened up about your life before the fire, let alone your parents. This is our last session together, and I really want to help you, but I can't if you're not honest with me. Once you walk out that door….."

Oh here we go again, the "guilt-trip" technique. Sheesh, you'd think after a year someone like him would stop using this bullshit. I guess it's a blessing in disguise, though. Heart-wrenching rants guarantees me ten minutes of uninterrupted daydreaming.

And then he says something I'm not expecting.

"…if your parents really didn't mean anything to you, like how you've implied your entire time here, then it's silly of me to keep tip-toeing around the issue," he says, in a bold tone uncommon for his timid demeanor. Aggravated by my silence, he turns away, running his hand down his bald spot.

"I'll be more forward: Were your parents abusive? It's obvious you have deep-seated issues with them beyond their deaths. Was it your father? " He turns back to me, on the verge of asking another line-crossing question when he sees the look on my face. Instantly all color drains from his already pallid skin, and his eyes widen in shock. I'm sure he's reacting to my ire in a multitude of other ways, but I take no notice.

I can't stop shaking. I clench my fists, the small voice in my head begging me to stay in control as the inferno inside singes everything in its path. My jaw locks, and all I can think about is how much I hate, how much I despise him: my father—the faceless bastard that left me, my sister and my mother to fend for ourselves, the sick fuck who callously left my mother in Forks when he became bored with his little love game.

Pain registers in my mind as my finger nails bury themselves deeper into my flesh. I can feel the energy build in my fists, in the air around me. From the corners of my eyes I already see the tint of green building in the air, just starting to glimmer. The monster in me, the vampire half that I inherited from him is awake now, fully risen from his slumber. Eagerly, he urges me to let it all out; the anger, the bitterness, the resentment, in one devastating explosion. _It would be easy_, he says, _so very easy to throw the shards and rip the pathetic human in front of you like_—

The thumping of an elevated heart rate brings me back to earth. My eyes re-focus on Flan, who looks just about ready to shit himself.

I close my eyes tightly, taking deep breaths. I think of South America a year ago with Miri. The monster fights me, not wanting to be put back to sleep after just waking up, but with all my might I force it down, back into the bowels of hell. I breathe deeply, in relief. He's gone...for now. I open my eyes.

Flan's sweating bullets. His heart's okay, but I can tell he's still scared shitless. Of what, he doesn't consciously know. He forces himself to plaster a smile on his face, even though it looks more like a grimace, and then asks, "Better?"

I turn my eyes away from him, smile gone, ashamed by my lapse in control. Instead, I look at the potted plant in the corner.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Flan begins. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I'd forgotten how much the issue affected you."

Sure, Flan's annoying. His job consists of constantly trying to pry in my personal life on behalf of the sycophantic principle of this school, but that's a counselor's job, isn't it? To learn about his clients? And he did help me this year with my control. I look up, seeing him fidget in his seat and continue on with his flustered apology.

Aww hell, might as well humor him. Besides, he's right. This past year I've brought the expression "keeping silent" to a whole new level. Minus the public information available in the files and the few tidbits I've allowed him to know in order for him to "help" me, he knows virtually nothing about us. Ironically enough, if my past was something that I _could_ spill, well, I probably wouldn't be stuck here every Thursday afternoon in the first place.

_The Swans: freak show of the community. _

I roll the phrase around in my head, mulling over the truthfulness of the title. Our cover story—that Bella became emancipated so she could take care of us after our parents died in a fire—was and still is impenetrable due to her meticulous planning, but it didn't explain our inhuman beauty, paleness, or intelligence. Our forced social standoffishness didn't help either, and it sure as hell didn't make the whispers and gossiping go away. Hell, even the teachers were at loss on how to handle our situation. We were living enigmas, and Flan, from the moment he received my file, wanted desperately to solve the puzzle that was my life. This past year must have been sorely disappointing for him. I re-examine his posture. He's re-settled in his black leather chair. Weary resignation hangs about him. A small treat then…

"I was never very close to my parents," I begin. Flan swiftly sits up, eyes widening, hardly daring to believe it.

"Bella always took care of us from the beginning; she was pretty much my mother," _Is my mother._ I think, "I never really knew my father. We kept to our own worlds." It may have been based on a lie, but it was as close to the truth as it was going to get.

Flannigan eagerly badgers me for more details, keeps asking about how the fire started, but I'm done being charitable for him. Besides, I don't want to keep going on about a fire that never happened…

I look at the clock again and am swept with relief as I see that our session is finally up. Flan seems to notice as well because he gets up and remarks, rather disappointedly, "Well, I guess this is it." I get up and face him.

"Guess so." We shake hands.

"Take care of yourself, Tony. And if you ever want to talk, well, I'll be here," he says, sheepishly.

"Right," I say, absentmindedly, running a hand over the unruly, mahogany mess that's my hair as I walk backwards towards the door.

He has that look about him—the one where he wants to say one more thing but can't muster up the balls to just up and say it. Or ask it. I don't give him the chance, though. Before Flannigan can say another word, I'm out the door and striding down the fluorescent-lit hallway. I turn a corner and push open the school doors, walking into the afternoon light. I never look back.

* * *

Everything is T-POV unless I note otherwise. Change in POV will be marked with three stars in the center of the page followed by first name initial of the new narrator.


	2. Pickups

I own nothing written by Stephenie Meyer.

And just a reminder, my hybrid vamps will be AU.

Beta'd by Arizona Hale and (EDIT: March, 2012) Project Team Beta.

**Warning: this chapter contains the use of a racial slur.**

* * *

The air is cool and pleasant. Yellow, orange and brown leaves matching the fading light of the day litter the grass-lawn in front of the school. A breeze passes by every so often, causing the flaky foliage to brush towards the far right side of the yard or accumulate at the foot of the two ancient oak trees flanking the concrete pathway leading to the sidewalks. I stroll forward, my shoes crunching against the stray leaves.

For the first time in a while I feel at ease. No longer will I have to stomach Flan's attempts at rooting out my family's secrets or the community's displeasure at my family's presence. We're starting anew in a city thousands of miles from here—hell, one that isn't even in the state. And this time I won't be labeled, I'll make sure of it. This time we'll truly have a clean slate.

I round left into the shaded sidewalk. A little girl with pigtails zooms my way on her scooter and from the corner of my eye, I see a shiny Hello Kitty key chain hanging off her pack, tempting me. With just a twitch of my fingers the chain can be mine, but I bury the impulse to swipe the trinket and instead let the child pass by.

I've messed up. I'm not afraid to admit it. I've done things in my short life that my family isn't proud of. But no matter what Mom or Nahuel or Huilen have told me, I can't bring myself to regret what I've done. Or at least, what I've done prior to moving to this place. I think I can say the same for Miri. My head still spins whenever I think about it: the afternoon sun, my hair whipping away from my face as I race down the road, freshly baked pastry in hand, the angry shouts of the policeman behind me. Miri's shock as I took her hand and dragged her through the crowd...and of course, afterwards, once everything had died down and we could fully comprehend what I'd done.

It made the bread taste even sweeter.

As I happily reminisce, a middle aged woman walking home with her young son gives me a strange look and quickly steers her child to the opposite side of the street. As they cross, she gives me another look: one of undisguised disgust. I stop walking and hold her gaze. Not expecting my temerity, the mother's own bravery falters and is replaced with shock over my cold, unyielding stare. Her shock is quickly followed by fear. Blood pools in her cheeks, and she briefly glances down before staring straight ahead again. Her son is oblivious to the incident, still going on about his day. I resume my walk.

Stealing things isn't as difficult as most people believe. Well, maybe it is for humans, but for someone who can hear, see and smell everything going on around them…sometimes it's like breaking glass: loud, gratifying, and endlessly amusing. The memory of the necklace incident dances through my mind…

Polished sapphire cut into a pristine oval treasure piece, hung by gold rope. Mom didn't find out what we were doing until a year after we acquired the jewel. She wasn't pleased when she got it out of me, after discovering the collection of hoarded trophies underneath the floorboards of my bedroom.

No. Far from it.

And to make it worse, she told Huilen and Nahuel. Miri and I weren't allowed to see each other much afterwards…but that didn't really stop us. Besides, the adults cooled down. Eventually. I guess it's lucky that Reni ages the same rate as a human, or that Nahuel and Huilen were so wrapped up in tracking down Joham, otherwise they wouldn't have been distracted enough for Miri and I to slip away for an hour or two...

Speaking of Reni, where is she? I quickly scan my surroundings. Arriving at the crumbling school, I expect her to be where she usually is—under the oak tree at the front of the yard. I stride past the wooden behemoth, through the grass yard, trying to pick her bronze ringlets out of the mess of rambunctious children celebrating the start of the weekend. And then I see her—she's sitting at one of the benches near the classrooms, stuffing sheaves of paper into her lion backpack/cuddly doll. I whistle softly, too soft for a human to hear, and she looks up, meeting my gaze. Immediately, her mouth breaks into a delighted grin, her eyes alight with happiness. I respond with a half smile, beckoning her over with a tilt of my head. She hops off of the bench, slinging her pack over her shoulder and begins making her way towards me. She skids to a stop at my side and in one smooth transition I have her tiny hand encased in mine and we're on our way.

"So, how was school?" I ask. She tightens her grip on my palm and then answers in her head, "_Good. I drew a picture for Ms. Mary."_

She radiates her thoughts through her hand more strongly. I sense the threads of her mind trying to connect with my own, so I tug a slimmer of my resistance down, just enough to have a conversation but not share everything.

"_That's good,"_ I think. "_What did you draw?"_ A picture of a duck drawn in bubblegum pink crayon pops into my head, which then transfers into the old lady's hands. The look of adoration on the teacher's face is priceless. "_A ducky. I made him pink,"_ she replies telepathically.

I chuckle. "Why pink?" I ask aloud, looking down at her.

"'Cause pink is prettier! I wish there were pink ducks…" she says longingly. Smirking, I shake my head.

We continue on like this—her mentally chatting about her day while I patiently listen—until we get to Sandstone Avenue. The intersection is particularly busy today, but instead of waiting for the red stoplight to flash back to walk, I steer Reni around the corner to walk along Elk Street.

"_Hey, what are you doing? Home is the other way!" _ She skids to a halt and proceeds to drag me back.

"Calm down."

"_But were going to be late!"_

"We don't have to be home until 5:30, we still have time." She isn't listening. She's still trying to drag me back to the stoplight, this time tugging with both of her hands. I put my hands on her shoulders, signaling her to stop. I kneel on one knee, and as I come to eye level with her, she places her right hand on my cheek.

"_Why are you acting so funny all of a sudden? Why can't we go home the regular way?" _she asks, worriedly.

"I was trying to tell you just now, but you wouldn't calm down. I need to pick up something before we leave—" I begin.

"_Why can't we pick it up on our way out of the city?_"

I sigh inwardly, impatience and exasperation mounting with every wasted second.

"Because one, the store closes in about an hour, long before we leave. Two, I'll be too busy helping Mom load up the moving truck, and three, I don't want Mom knowing what I'm getting."

"_Why?" _she asks.

"Why what?"

"_Why don't you want Momma to know?"_

I pause for a moment, unsure on how to answer. I look around at my surroundings, searching for anything that might give me an idea. Just when I'm about to give up hope, a party truck with a clown painted on the side rumbles by us, and then lightning strikes my head.

"Because it's a surprise," I whisper to the suddenly entranced little girl in front of me. The effect I'm aiming for is instantaneous. You've got to love a four-year-old's short attention span.

"A surprise!" she exclaims aloud, dropping her palm from my face. "For who?"

"Miri," I answer. Her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up into her forehead, her mouth forming a round O in response. However, her shocked expression soon gives away to confusion.

"Why would you want to keep a secret like that from Momma?"

"Because I think the less people know, the better. Besides, you know how well Miri can read Mom."

"Oh. Okay," she says satisfied.

"So remember," I continue, "don't tell Mom. And if she asks, just say I felt like soaking up the city one more time before we left."

"''Kay."

I stand up again, while Reni obediently clasps my hand. We resume our walk. She's silent for a couple of minutes, verbally and telepathically, her brow furrowed deep in thought. Before I can ask her what she's thinking, she re-initiates her gift and asks in her head, _"Soooo, is it for Miri's birthday?"_ The worry caused by her silence is quenched with sweet relief.

"Not exactly. More of an 'I've missed you like crazy' present. I'm not even sure we'll be seeing her anytime soon," I reply, as the houses melt into grey apartment buildings.

"_Where do you think they are right now?"_

"Probably in Australia. That's where their last letter came from."

I look around, admiring the graffiti art that covers the dirty, crumbling buildings. We're close. With pleasure, I spot my work among the gang-related scribbles, untouched and still fresh, a good sign.

Soon our destination comes into view; _Mac's Metal Works. _It's a decrepit, grimy looking garage with its windows painted over with black paint. To the untrained eye, it seems as though this pitiful building is deserted, possibly condemned. But I know better. We make our way across the trash-strewn street, and at the front of the garage door, I knock three times and wait. I know he's there; the shop closes at six, and it's only five-fifteen. I just hope he has the stuff….

Reni's becoming impatient. She shifts from foot to foot, drawing her head back to gaze at the pale orange sky. Just as she's about to ask why the people won't hurry up, the garage door rumbles open and there stands Mac. As always, he's dressed in his anchor blue jeans and white, cotton wife-beater, almond skin smeared with grease. At the sight of me, his round, boyish face splits open into a grin. Arms open, he welcomes me in his alto drawl, "What's good, nigga'?"

"Aww, same old," I say, smiling in response. We enter the musty-smelling garage, the tin doors rumbling shut behind us.

"You got the stuff?" I ask.

"Pfft. Man, you know me. You got the money?"

"Of course. Why else would I be here?"

"Aww, dat hurt bro! And here I thought you came to cry on my shoulder and tell me how much you're gonna miss me and shit, no homo," Mac says in mock sorrow, putting a palm to his heart for dramatic effect.

"Oh hahaha, very funny. Shit... my last day here, and you're still not gonna let me live down last Thursday, are you?"

"Hehe, what kind of friend would I be if I did?" he grins. It's at that moment he notices Reni at my side.

"Who's this?" he asks, staring interestedly at my sister.

"My sister. Reni, this is Mac. He's a friend of mine." I gesture to the greasy young man in front of me.

"Hi," she says shyly.

"Uhh, hi," Mac says, flabbergasted by Reni's adorability.

"Reni," I say, catching her attention, "Mac and I need to get Miri's present. You look tired, why don't you go have a quick rest on the couch." I point to the squishy, green cushions on our right, underneath the painted-over windows.

She gives me an annoyed look, one she reserves for when either me or Mom tries to get her to nap, but I hold her gaze with a stoic stare, silently trying to tell her that I have to talk to Mac alone. She catches on fairly quickly, a dawning of recognition softening her face. Hesitantly, she walks to the couch and climbs on, sitting near the armrest, black shoes dangling above the floor.

"I'll be right back, don't touch anything," I say. She nods, palms flat on the soft cushion, her eyes exploring the interior of the garage with rekindled interest.

I follow Mac to the back office, and sitting on the counter is none other than Jack, a twitchy, pale shrimp, and Mac's foster brother. As always, his nose is in his cell phone, texting. At the sound of my footsteps, he looks up and finally sees me.

"Bruh!" he exclaims in excitement, jumping off of the desk. "Where you been, man? I haven't seen you in helllllla long time-"

"Shh!" I throw up my hands in alarm, afraid that Reni might hear. Mac glares at him and quietly shuts the door.

"Man, keep it down, his sister's in the other room," he snaps to Jack, annoyed. He walks around the desk to get my package.

"Well, shit, I didn't know!" Jack says, bumping fists with me.

"Yeah, yeah, well keep it down. And that reminds me, YOU need to stop texting so goddamn much. You're getting behind on your chores…"

"Da' fuck are you smokin'?" says Jack, his eyes drawn back down to his cell phone.

"That," Mac starts, gesturing towards Jack's cell with the package in his hands, "is exactly what I'm talking about." He sets the box on top of the table while I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching with a smirk on my face.

He looks to me. "Man, you are lucky your sister ain't the same age as you. See that?" He points towards Jack, who's now rapidly texting a response to his girl. "_That_ is what I've got to deal with all day long."

I chuckle softly. I wonder how Mac would react if he knew the truth about us.

"Hey, it has its draw backs, trust me, man."

"Oh yeah? Like What?"

"…Dude, have you ever had a four-year-old ask you where babies actually come from? And not that whole 'stork shit,' I'm talking about her asking me what a fallopian tube was." He gives me an incredulous look, which I meet with a deadpan stare. Realizing my seriousness, his jaw drops in shock and horror.

"S-she asked that? Where the hell did she hear _that _from?" he blurts. Meanwhile, Jack is laughing like a hyena.

"Pfft, I don't know, she was probably scrolling through my biology book again. She likes to look at the pictures. She says they're interesting."

"Damn bro. No offense, but that's kind of freaky," Mac says, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Yeah, I guess it is. Which proves my point; _You _don't have to worry about that with _him_." I nod my head towards a once again cell-phone-obsessed Jack.

"Yeah, well, I guess." He clears his throat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable by what we're talking about. "Anyway," he starts. "Back to your shit." He presents the package on top of his desk, as though presenting a priceless diamond to a potential buyer. "I tell ya, man, I've gotten some crazy requests in my time, but never something like this." He opens the box and takes it out, cradling it carefully in his hands.

"Alright, so I've had to make some modifications. Nothing too big; it was tricky though. But all in all, it's stronger than a typical gun, just like you asked."

He hands the device to me. I hold the cool metal in my hands, the handle grip, examining the springs attached to the back.

"Seriously dude, why do ya need this?" He's now dumping the empty box in the trash can in the corner.

"You don't want to know," I reply.

"Whatever, man," he sighs.

He places the metal device in a padded leather case, which I take and place in my back pack. I then give him the yellow envelope full of his payment: $3,300. Carefully slinging my pack over my shoulder, I watch as he counts the money, making sure it's all there. Satisfied, he places the envelope in his jean pocket, and then hands his arm out to me in a typical gangsta fashion.

"Alright man, you take care."

We grasp hands.

"Yeah, you too," I murmur. Realizing that I'm leaving, Jack steers himself away from his phone and gives me a hug. When he's done, I walk away and open the door, feeling their eyes on my back. I spy Reni slumped over the armrest, fast asleep. Smirking, I walk silently over to her and gather her in my arms, letting her head rest on my shoulder. The garage door rumbles open. Without turning around I walk out and head for home, the reddish hue of the sunset, my sister, and the graffiti-covered walls my only company.


	3. So long and good night

I own nothing written by Stephenie Meyer.

Beta'd by Arizona Hale and (EDIT: March, 2012) Project Team Beta

* * *

"Where have you two been? I was getting worried."

The sun has already disappeared over the horizon. Not as early as Reni wanted us to be, but we're home_._ I give her to Mom.

With a still-sleeping Reni in her arms, she zips across the living room and places her gently on the white love seat set against the wall, opposite the front door—the only piece of furniture left that needs to be packed. My eyes run across the open space that was our home, now just an empty shell for some other person to fill. The dark, oak floors glimmer like rich maple syrup underneath the box-like light fixtures attached to the walls, casting the white molding and loveseat in a dark repose that wouldn't have been noticed if the rest of the furniture were still here. It makes the place seem cavernous.

"Tony, TONY!"

I look back to Mom, a bemused expression on her face. She walks over from the couch, the bottom of her clogs clicking against the wooden floors, until she's right in front of me. Without a word, she engulfs me in a hug, her scent floral and just plain _mom._

"Did everything go alright?" She releases me, hands on my shoulders so she can give me a brief once over. She looks up at me expectantly.

"Fine, I guess," I say, rubbing the back of my neck tiredly.

"And you didn't answer my first question." She takes a step back, arms folded against her chest.

Inwardly, I wince. She isn't going to let this go. Damn. I squirm from her suspicious gaze as I stumble over my excuse.

"I just wanted to soak up the city a bit before we left. Say goodbye to some people, you know. That sort of thing…" I trail off.

She watches me with incredulous eyes, her head tilted. I strain to keep my heartbeat at an even pace, knowing that she's listening and that even the slightest irregularity will give me away.

Just then, the buzzer rings; the movers have arrived. I step to the side as she hurries into the hallway and down the stairs to meet them in the lobby. She shuts the front door just as her waist length tresses whip behind her. I breathe a sigh of relief once she's gone, running my hand through my hair. It was a close call. There's no doubt in my mind that she would blow a fuse if she found out what I was planning.

"Are we going soon?" Reni asks sleepily from the loveseat, back facing me, head nestled in the trench made from the back of the couch and the seat cushion. Quietly, I cross the room. I settle myself on the floor, leaning back against the white leather footrest.

"Yeah," I whisper, without looking behind me, "don't worry. Just go back to sleep."

She sighs. "'Kay. Wake me up when we're on the train," she reminds me for the umpteenth time, before falling back into her slumber. We'd never taken the train before and she was excited about the experience. The past couple of weeks that was all she talked about. With a smile, I remember her asking if we could ride on the roof of the train, like in that movie we watched, _Polar Express._ Mom just laughed and settled Reni in her lap. I look around the room again, noting the empty space where the television used to be.

We're really leaving. The reality of what's happening seems to finally hit me full-force; never again would we sit in this room and watch cartoons, or eat the meals Mom had meticulously prepared. Never again would I fall asleep in the spacious cavern that was my room, watching the stars glint like crystals against the dark blue sea of night from my window. The city would go on without us. My work would be left behind—probably to be desecrated within the next year until completely covered. It would be as though we were never here, as if we never existed. My heart sinks a little, just at the thought…until I remember why I hate living here in the first place.

Emotions swirl in my mind, contradictions forming and becoming undone. Did I really hate this place for the reasons stated, or was it just an excuse to piss off Mom? Could it have been any place we moved to? Christ, what's wrong with me? I never liked this place. All I've thought about was getting the hell out of here. And yet when it's finally happening I'm getting all sentimental and crap_._ I grasp the roots of my hair in frustration and draw my legs up to my chest, letting my forehead rest against my knees.

What I wouldn't give to make a run to the quarry and take out some of my frustration….

-CRASH-

I spring up off of the floor and run out of the apartment, into the narrow hallway, nearly crashing into the stack of boxes jutting haphazardly in my path. I stumble out of the way just in time. Once I regain my stature I continue my run, past our neighbor's doors and down the three flights of stairs, arriving in the well-lit lobby in seconds. In the center of the lobby the bookshelf that once stood adjacent to the couch in our living room is now lying pathetically on its side on the floor. Behind it stands Mom, arms crossed, barely concealed amusement on her face as she listens to the two movers flustered apology.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm just so completely lost today," the first one stutters. He shifts from foot to foot, messy blonde hair falling over his eyes in shame.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry," mumbles the second. He seems to have more confidence than his friend, staring at her unabashedly. Or perhaps it's because he has no long hair to hide behind. She takes it all in stride, smiling as she reassures them that no harm has been done.

I cross the wide open space to my mother's side, my sneakers squeaking on the shiny, polished floor. Both are gawking at her now, eyes moving over her white cotton button-down, down to her black slacks with a mixture of fear and lust—the common effect all vampires have toward any human. That doesn't mean I'm not disgusted, though. I glare at them, sending an ill-disguised shiver down their spines. They quickly attend to the bookshelf without a word, shuffling as fast as they can out the glass doors and to the moving truck outside.

"What happened?" I ask, turning to her.

"Oh, nothing, they just lost their grip on the shelf is all."

"Before or after they saw you?" I smirk.

"After," she grins.

"Typical humans," I murmur, shaking my head.

She giggles, her laugh tinkling through the air. "You're one to talk. If I'm not mistaken, you're also the one with a heartbeat," she says, throwing me an appraising look.

"Well…yeah…but I don't count. C'mon, have you ever seen me lose my cool over a girl?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

She laughs again. "No, not yet."

I freeze. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Come on, we should start taking the boxes down now," she answers innocently.

She begins walking back to the flight of stairs with me hot on her trail. "Again, did everything go alright?" she asks, looking back at me.

"It was fine, nothing special."

"Did anyone give you trouble?" She leads the way up the steps, adopting a human pace so we can talk.

"Not during school." She gives me an inquisitive look, urging me to continue.

"It was nothing. Just this stuck up mom walking her kid home. She glared at me like I was scum on her shoes."

"I see. I'm sure it wasn't personal. Maybe she was having a bad day," she reasons. At this, I give _her_ an appraising look. She grimaces.

"Well, alright, maybe it was personal. But she doesn't matter. Just let it go." She wraps her arm around my shoulder in a one-armed hug.

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

We arrive back on our floor, the carpet muffling our steps.

"…and Flan? How was he?" she inquires, concern and worry more evident in her tone.

"He did something weird today…" And I proceed to explain the counselor's change in conversational topic and my response.

"….so I told him, 'We kept to our own worlds.' You should've seen him lap that up. I swear to god, that guy needs a vacation or something," I go on as we pass our former neighbors' doors.

I pause when I notice she's no longer by my side. I turn around. She's several feet behind me in the middle of the hallway, a dark cloud creeping over her flawless face, arms wrapped around her abdomen, as though trying to keep her insides from falling out. I silently curse myself for my tactlessness. I walk back to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and trying to make eye contact.

"Mom? Are you going to be okay?" I should've known to keep my damn mouth shut.

"Mom?" I try again. She hears me this time, her golden irises meeting my green.

"Yes…yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry, dear; go on with your story." She shrugs off her depression as if it were nothing more than a passing thought. I give her a watered-down version of what happened this time. If she notices my avoidance she doesn't say.

By the time I'm done we arrive back to the front door of our now empty apartment. As Mom goes inside to check on Reni, I grab one of the many boxes stacked against the wall. Without waiting for her, I walk into the elevator I'd ignored before in my haste. Once inside I let my mind drift, melancholy and shame making my insides squirm.

She still loves him. After all these years, for reasons I can't fathom, she still loves him. She doesn't have to say anything for me to know. It's as clear as day, as though written on her forehead in permanent marker. I remember the few times I asked about him. The few times Reni asked about him. She tried her best to explain, to give answers…but she couldn't. Instead the same chilling desolation consumed her face, temporarily making her a shell of her former self; Then and now.

It had only gotten worse. Now she didn't need for us to ask about him to trigger the episodes—a certain song playing on the radio, a trip to a clothing store, certain books, it seemed like everything could now be a potential trigger… And I couldn't ask. It was painful enough for her to tell us why he wasn't around let alone the details. At the thought, my fingers clench around the flimsy cardboard material in an effort to retain control, rumpling the corners of the poor box as if it were made of paper.

It's his fault. All his fault. For everything.

* * *

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Her question hangs in the chilly air as the loveseat is moved into the bowels of the moving truck. We're outside now; Reni still sleeps, but now in Mom's arms, head resting on the material of her jacket, oblivious to her brother and mother watching the movers prep for their long drive.

"Just thinking about this place. It's strange. I'm glad we're leaving, but I'm not, you know?" I turn to face her fully. "Is there something wrong with me?"

"No, of course not. It feels infuriating, doesn't it? Like you shouldn't be feeling what you're feeling, but you can't help it?" she asks, gently.

"Yeah, that."

"It's normal, trust me."

"How do you know?" A hint of desperation leaks into my tone. Gentle understanding brims in her golden eyes.

"It's the same way I felt when I moved back in with your grandfather." I shift uncomfortably at this revelation. Talking about grandpa isn't exactly a happy experience for her either.

"I knew it was the right choice. At least this way your grandmother could be with her new husband." She pauses for a second to shift Reni in a more comfortable position. "But even though I was happy for her I still felt absolutely miserable for doing it. I hated Forks. I hated the rain. That changed, though, after meeting your father." My stomach clenches.

"You don't have to say anymore about him," I say quickly.

She's silent for a minute, but then answers in a determined tone, "It's not something to be ashamed about." Her face becomes strained as she tries to organize her thoughts. She shuts her eyes tight before opening them again, resolve dominating her features.

"I know how I get whenever this subject comes up; don't think I don't." She eyes my furrowed brows and grimace with disdain and regret. "And I know how damaging it's been to you and your sister."

She lets out a sigh, needlessly, out of habit.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry I haven't been strong enough, even after all these years. I'm just going to have to try harder. But when you're of age, I'll tell you the full story. As for Reni, we'll see how that plays out. But trust me when I say that I love you both and that it's not your fault whenever I get like this. It's mine."

My fists clench, anger re-igniting in my core.

"How can you say that? He's the one that left you, left all of us. How the hell is the mess you're in not his fault?" I exclaim, outraged. In her arms, Reni stirs.

She turns away from me briefly, rocking Reni back to sleep. If she were human she would be crying. I know it for sure. Regret and shame gurgles in the pit of my stomach, an apology bubbling up in my throat before I can stop myself. She cuts me off before I even have the first word out.

"You can't control how you feel," she says softly. Meeting my eyes with sad wisdom, she continues, "You can control your actions, but not the path your heart chooses. Your father understood this." Her eyes fill with unspoken pain and heartbreak. She turns away, opting instead to gaze at the dirty tin wall of the moving truck. "Besides, who was I to force him to stay?"

"The mother of his children."

The other emotions linger, dark and rabid, fighting over control, but they're easily overcome by the familiar burn of resentment. Cold but hot, it courses through my veins, stroking the flames of my rage erstwhile cooling my mind, allowing me to think. Mom chuckles darkly.

"True. But he didn't know that. Hell, _I_ didn't even know _that_ until a couple of days later."

I sigh in exasperation, massaging my forehead with my middle and thumb fingers. She's never going to stop defending him, even after everything. The infuriating revelation leaves me with a monster headache.

"I still think he's a douche bag," I mutter to the ground bitterly.

Silence.

It takes another hour for the humans to pack up everything into the moving truck. That's mostly due to their lecherous gossip concerning the availability of their newest client, though. Once everything's packed up, Mom makes sure the movers have the correct directions to our new destination. It will take a day for the humans and us to get to Minnesota despite our decision to travel by train rather than car, and Mom doesn't want our stuff to end up in another state or something. I look over at them. The two that dropped the bookshelf in the lobby are joined by a third. All hang onto Mom's every word, like eager golden retrievers awaiting their treats. I look away in disgust. I know what's going on in their minds. You don't have to be a mind reader to know, but why oh why does it have to be my mother?

Once she's sure that the movers know the directions like the back of their hands, we start walking. It's a clear night, the stars twinkling above us. Reni begins to stir as we make it to the train station, and when we pick up our tickets she's practically squirming out of Mom's arms. Smirking at her daughter's antics, she places her on the ground. Reni steadies herself by grabbing Mom's hand just as she's about to fall, while her other hand is in a fist rubbing her eyes.

"Three-ten to Minnesota, now boarding," hollers the conductor. We make our way to the platform, my vision blurring from fatigue. As we get to one of the doors the conductor asks for our tickets, his voice echoing in the night. All I can think about is getting inside so I can finally sleep.

Seeing that everything's in order, he rips our tickets in half and gives us back our stubs, reminding us when to get off. Mom nods thank you and we get on board, me leading the way. The interior is warm and dimly lit, with dark red carpet adorning the floor, complemented by polished, oak walls. As we walk through the narrow hallway to get to our compartment, my body starts to give in to exhaustion. My frame feels like it's about to collapse in on itself. Vaguely I'm aware of Reni and Mom behind me, but all I can distinguish in my haze is their excited murmurings.

"What compartment are we in again?" I ask, as my eyes strain to read the numbers on the doors to our right and left.

Silence.

I turn around.

"Mom, did you hear—" I begin, only to see an empty hallway. Silence.

The hallway is different, no gentle light basking the space in a dim but comforting glow. Did the electricity go out? I look to the front, only to be met by the same darkness. The carpet's color looks like a deep purple now, like spilled grape juice, the oak doors and walls cast in dark shadow. I feel around the walls trying to find a handle, anything to grasp onto that would assure me that I'm in the right place. I feel the sting of cool metal under my hands after groping the wall to my left. My hands clasp around the ball of metal, no doubt a knob and I smile in relief…until I turn it, meeting not the resounding click of the door opening, but resistance.

Denial leaves me paralyzed for a second. I try again, abandoning restraint, trying to rip the infernal knob out of its socket rather than turn it; still nothing.

I kick the wall in frustration.

I begin to shuffle along the side of the wall, trying to find another knob. I find many, but all are locked like the first so I keep going, deeper into the darkness until I can see nothing but blackness.

The absence of sound begins to blare in my mind. My heart races. The narrow space gets smaller and smaller as I shuffle along. All that accompanies me is the harsh inhale and exhale of air out of my mouth.

And then, just when I think I would never see the light again, a sliver of it peaks from the crack of a door at the end of the hallway. My heart races again, but this time in jubilation. I run to the light, never taking my eyes off of it until I'm at the front of the door. Quickly I find its knob, remembering its general location from the hours feeling around for the other ones. To my delight there's no resistance, and I quickly turn it and push the door open, running inside. I don't know what I'm expecting, but it has to be better than this place, right?

I'm wrong.

I'm _there _again, the whitewash walls glaring under the flickering fluorescents. Disbelief mounts in me. My eyes rake over the room, even though I know what's already there: the dirty mattress in the corner, bloodstained sheets, cracked linoleum floors, rusty metal instruments propped against the walls.

"No."

I whirl around to re-open the door only to find a blank space of wall. Fear and hysteria begin to spill out of me in the form of my roar.

"NO!"

I slam my fists against the walls, but the only cracks to appear are in my fists, blood seeping out of the raw, split-open flesh. I don't care. I continue on with my assault. An amused chuckle jingles behind me. I freeze. I can feel her watching me, relishing my fear. I don't turn around.

"When are you going to learn?" I hear the click of her heels as she strolls closer. She's directly behind me, cold breath caressing the back of my neck. I keep my eyes fixed in front of me, not daring to look around. From my peripheral vision I see the hint of her flame-like strands as she steps to the side and leans against the wall.

"Y-you're not here." I try to say in an even tone, not trusting myself to look at her. "This isn't real, you're not really here."

"That's no way to speak to your mother," she tuts, placing an icy hand on my shoulder. I flinch away from her, sickened by her touch. I'm facing her now. She looks as flawless as the first day I met her almost five years ago, the day of my birth. Her hair is the same shade of red; she has the same willowy, feline figure…same insane look in her eyes.

"You're not my mother."

She snarls. Next thing I know I'm up against the wall, her hand around my throat, feet kicking only air. I look down and almost puke in horror and disgust. Her once perfect skin is now deathly grey, with thin, purple, jagged cracks trailing throughout her form, like some sick, twisted creation of Frankenstein, flame-like hair now a wispy silver. But nothing's more terrifying than her face—contorted, sunken, and distorted by her snarl. I see her cheek muscles as they protrude furiously at my response, the grey, wizened tissue rippling the skin into a mass of angry lines as her snarl tears across her face. Her teeth are still bared, showcasing their rotten, yellowing state. Her eyes though are the same: crimson.

Spots begin to appear in my vision as she cuts off the oxygen to my lungs. I claw at her grasp to no avail.

"You. Are. Mine," she snarls, tightening her grip on my throat. "Understand?"

"No," I rasp, "Not… my… mother."

She cackles hatefully.

"How can _she _be your mother if all that's left of her is pieces?" She moves aside so I can see the rest of the room. My eyes go back to the bloodied bed sheets on the floor.

There's a body underneath. I feel my insides turn to ice. The shape is small, petite. Feminine. She isn't exposed except for a strand of mahogany hair sticking out from underneath the blood-soaked covers.

My heart freezes. Mahogany hair.

"No." I struggle harder against her grasp, fighting the spots. "No!"

"Yes," she hisses triumphantly. "Go ahead, drink it in." She leans in closer, until our noses are nearly touching. I cringe instinctively, trying to turn away from the sight of her grey, rubbery, deteriorating flesh. Her scent surrounds me, makes me retch: kerosene and licorice.

"Now, give your mother a kiss."

* * *

B

"To bad we can't sit on the roof," Reni says, her forehead pressed to the window as we race through green forests and hills. I chuckle at her childish logic.

I look over again at Tony, stretched out and asleep on the bench across from us, and a dull ache runs through my heart. It's been so long, but so short. Impossible, that in four years he's gone from begging me to tell him a bedtime story to begging me for permission to stay out late and paint, to spend time with his human friends.

Nahuel had explained that some hybrids grew at an accelerated rate, using himself and Miri as examples, and that others grew normally like Reni, assuring me that what was happening to both of them was normal. It didn't stop my worry though. I search my son's face again, so similar to my own he could be mistaken for _my _twin—his heart-shaped face, the shape of his eyes, nose, mouth. And then his hair: a dark, rich mahogany that again matches mine. But there are differences: his height, his build, how his hair sticks up no matter how much he combs it, but most of all his eyes—emerald green, just like how _his _were. For the thousandth time I curse myself for my weakness. Tony was right. After all, _he_ had left us in quite a mess.

_But he doesn't know._

No, he doesn't know. But he still left.

_And who's to say that he would have stayed even if he had known_? The sudden thought only adds to my despair. I try to smother it but this time it's too much.

He lied. And if he lied about that, what's to say he didn't lie about other things? For all I knew, everything that came out of his mouth could have been a lie, like what Joham did with Nahuel's mother_._

I look back to Reni, who is still fascinated by the passing forests. While Tony took after me, Reni had taken after _him_—same chiseled jaw structure, practically the same face and _exactly_ the same shade of hair color. Except for the eyes. My eyes.

The rapid increase in heartbeat alerts me back to Tony—his arms are folded against his chest tightly now, and his fists are balled. His face is scrunched up as though concentrating on something, eyes shut tight, but I know better. Coupled with all of this and his increased heart rate and breathing, there's only one explanation: nightmare.

I get up from my seat and am kneeling at his side in a millisecond. Gently, I run my hand over his hair.

"Tony, wake up," I whisper. His nose twitches in response. My hand goes to his cheek, so warm from sleep, and I pat it gently, trying to coax him out of his slumber. After a few more seconds he finally opens his eyes.

"Huh?" he gasps, half his body jerking up, startled. He props himself up on his arms and blinks rapidly up at me.

"What happened? Where are we?"

"Everything's fine; you were having a nightmare." I cup his cheek in my cold hand. "You were practically dead on your feet when we got on the train, and when we got to our compartment you passed out on the bench. You've been out for nearly three hours now."

The haze of bemusement that clouded his eyes is gone now, replaced with relief. He casts a look at Reni and me before settling back into the cushions of his seat. He breathes deeply, eyes going to the ceiling.

"Thanks."

"What did you see?" I ask him.

"The same as always." His eyes remain glued to the ceiling.

Recognizing the tension in the atmosphere, Reni comes to our little huddle and sits on the floor, resting her chin on the upholstery of the seat to stare at Tony. I keep stroking his hair, trying to convey what my mouth cannot. Sighing, he sits up and scoots himself away from us, to my increasing distress.

"I'm sorry." His face is burning with shame. My heart is breaking all over again. I shift closer until our faces are inches apart. Still, he avoids my eyes.

"Look at me," I say firmly, pushing down my despair until it's nothing but a slight ache in my heart. My steely tone does the trick. His eyes flick back to me with almost no hesitation. I take his face in both of my hands.

"It wasn't your fault. I don't hate you for it."

He stares stoically back at me, saying nothing. After a minute or so he nods. I release him, shifting back to give him some space as Reni scoots closer. Quite determined to help, she grabs one of Tony's hands and begins showing him what I know are happy thoughts, anything to cheer him up. He smiles at her effort, lifting her into his lap and gives her a hug, murmuring thanks along the way. I join in as well, engulfing both of them in my embrace. This time he doesn't push or move away, and my heart soars, the despair cast out of my body like an evil spirit's encounter with an exorcist…for now.

"Everything's going to be okay," I whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."


	4. Newsflash: Dracula style

Yes, I'm aware that this is a short chapter, that's the whole point. But just to clarify a few things so you all won't be scratching your heads in confusion:

In the original Dracula novel by Bram Stoker, a good portion of the story was comprised of journal entries and newspaper clippings. While the journal entries were from the main characters, the newspaper clippings served to subtly convey to the reader Dracula's current location…among other things, which needless to say, added to the suspense of the story.

This chapter is just my little homage to the original vamp book that started it all ;) See if you can identify which characters inspired the poor, oblivious humans into writing these four mysterious/macabre articles.

I own nothing written by Stephenie Meyer**.**

Pre-read by Kitty, Beta'd by Arizona Hale (EDIT: April, 2012) and Project Team Beta.

* * *

**Florencia Free Press:**

_Pandemonium: April 8th, 2007:_

Afternoons at the market place: a typical family pastime enjoyed by the inhabitants of Florencia, Colombia. Amidst the bustling square, deals are made, food is bought, and products are sold and bartered. However, what started out as a typical afternoon turned into a colossal disaster as two mystery individuals drove through the once immaculate square while on the run from local authorities. The remarkable nature of this case was not the fugitive's mode of transportation—a stolen 1966 Harley Sprint motorcycle—but their ages, roughly 10-11 years old.

"It was insane," Maria Silva, a local herbal medicine store owner recalled. "Just minding my own business when suddenly out of nowhere a red motor cycle ridden by two children, a boy and girl, raced right by, missing me by inches. They could've run me over!"

Indeed, stories like Maria's have been repeated by numerous people throughout the town, all recalling the incident, some with fear, others with anger, and strangely enough, amusement. "I've never seen anything like it," laughed Henry Roderiguez, shoe shop owner.

The two perpetrators eluded capture from the authorities, but not before demolishing several food and goods stands in the process, costing many local stand owners thousands of pesos worth of damages.

While the incident is starting to become something akin to legend, local authorities have begun a full-fledged investigation into the identification and capture of the two perpetrators.

"The descriptions of the hoodlums we received from the many witnesses match the descriptions of two wanted pickpockets that have been a menace to neighboring cities and towns, specifically tourists, the past year," Inspector Escobar reported. "Though still children, the public is warned that the duo is incredibly dangerous and deceptive."

"It shouldn't be too difficult to catch them," Escobar's partner, Inspector Del Zios, told the Florencia Free Press. "We already have a police sketch of the two in question and a list of their known aliases. It's only a matter of time."

The following is a physical description of the two:

**Male: **

Primary known alias: Charles

-Caucasian

-brown hair

-green eyes

-height: 4'2"

-wiry build

**Female: **

Primary known alias: Carolina

-Hispanic

-black hair

-hazel eyes

-height: 4'2"

-slender build

Both have been consistently seen with each other before and after the pickpocket incidents have taken place. If you have any information regarding the fugitives described above, please contact the Police Department immediately.

**Philippine Enquirer:**

_Legends, myths, and the unexplainable: March 5th, 2007_

Boracay: A string of islands in the Philippines known for its beauty and popularity as a vacation spot for the overworked and romantic. With its white beaches, hideaway ocean-front hotels' in front of the ocean, and clear blue waves that are just the right temperature, it is an ideal place for those searching for an escape from the overwhelming demands of the real world.

But, in this particular paradise, there is an eerie presence hiding beneath the surface, or perhaps in this case, above it.

"It was truly the most terrifying moment of my life," Amie Reyes, inn-keeper of the popular sea-front hotel, Coral Inn, dictated to her granddaughter, Ruby, who was kind enough to translate for the Philippine Enquirer. "I had gone upstairs to look for some of my old photo albums." The inn was once Amie's childhood home. "Everything was as it should be—I had to grope around in the dark for them, there were no lights installed in the attic and I had lent my spare flashlights to a neighbor the previous day—when suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I spotted something pure white near the window. What I saw nearly gave me a heart attack."

Mrs. Reyes pauses for a moment to gulp down a glass of water, composing herself while clutching her granddaughter's hand. "It was a Demonya, I'm positive. His skin was deathly pale, like a corpse, his eyes pitch black. His features were...unholy, inhuman."

When the Philippine Enquirer asked Amie to elaborate she refused point blank, frantically making the sign of the cross over her chest. However, she did recall his hair color: reddish brown, "like the edges of the sun," she whispered.

"He just stared at me with the most chilling look on his face, no emotion. My voice didn't work; I was so terrified. Then, after what seemed like a lifetime, he hissed and jumped through the window! A second later, my granddaughter entered the room having heard the shattering of glass."

Whether or not Mrs. Reyes account can be believed is up to the readers of the Philippine Enquirer, but one key fact remains: despite the shattered discovery of the attic window at the base of the hotel, not one drop of blood was found amongst any of the shards.

**Cherryville Gazette:**

_Urban art: Vandalism or Masterpiece? By Kenny Chang, October 31st, 2009:_

Earlier this week, the City Council voted to arrange a special committee whose purpose would be to decide whether or not the recent patches of graffiti cropping up around the city should really be considered vandalism or works of art deserving of preservation for years to come.

"I really think the city should just cover up those darn things," Dianna Dutton, mother of two, told the Cherryville Gazette. "True artwork is painted on canvases and paper, _not _on the side of buildings."

Many, however, do not seem to share Ms. Dutton's view.

"I think it's awesome," Ricky Vasquez, sidewalk artist and window painter remarked. "Whoever painted those pictures, man—he or she had mad skills. They should be in a museum."

And indeed, many are agreeing with Mr. Velasquez's declaration. So, to see what the fuss was about, I decided to visit the now famous (or infamous, depends on your point of view) alleyway on 21st and Archibald. The sight that I witnessed left me utterly speechless. Twelve feet tall and covering the entire width of the building, was a rendering of what has now been identified as Canto V from "Dante's Inferno," part one of the epic poem "The Divine Comedy" by Dante Alighieri. Canto V, which depicts Dante and Virgil's experience in the second circle of Hell. In the center is Virgil supporting Dante, their backs to the viewer, as they watch the endless, swirling, opaque sea of souls longingly reaching for each other in vain.

There are many other pieces like this that have popped up in and around the city—all found in public areas, all done in spray-paint. What is truly astonishing is the mystery artist's effectiveness in staying anonymous. The Cherryville police department continues to have no viable leads.

Only time will tell of what is to come for the "Phantom Works" as they have come to be known in Cherryville, but one thing is for certain: this city has never seen more tourism.

**El Heraldo De Mexico:**

_Missing Teen Found Dead: November 2nd, 2005_

Gabriella Miriam Espinosa, 17, missing since July of this year, was found dead three days ago in an abandoned barn house in Bogota, Colombia. Espinosa, a quiet student from the prestigious American School Foundation, was said to have had dreams of becoming an actress in New York City. She was a prominent dramatist; Theresa Ramirez, close friend of Espinosa, tearfully quoted that, "It was her passion."

Espinosa was reported missing by Ramirez when she did not report to her summer theater classes last July. She was declared a runaway two days after the initial report. Flor Espinosa, Gabriella's mother, was said to have been "at heads" with her daughter for quite some time. An investigation into the Espinosa household is currently taking place.

The medical examiner refused to reveal any specifics on how Espinosa died, but inside sources have told El Heraldo that Espinosa was believed to have been mauled by some sort of animal. What is even more disturbing is how the injuries were made. Though it seems impossible, the wounds seemed to have been made from the inside, then out, rather than the other way around, "as if some kind of animal ripped its way out of her stomach cavity," the source told El Heraldo, quite shaken. The investigation into what transpired during the last month is still pending. A memorial is planned tomorrow at St. Francis church. The funeral will be held sometime within the month. All in all, it is a tragedy no one could have foreseen for such a promising young lady. She will be sorely missed.


	5. See no evil

_September 25, 2010_

_Dear Tony, _

_Sorry it's been awhile. Nahuel and Huilen got into a pretty bad fight a couple of weeks ago, so Nahuel took off to scout out Europe for a bit. Personally I think he just wanted an excuse to explore. I'm sure he's fascinated by the differences there. He's pretty furious about the situation right now, though. When he was away, he picked up their trail up in Berlin, so we had to hightail it pretty quickly once we got the news. You should have seen Huilen's face when she got his call. Just imagine a petite, latina woman screaming incoherent expletives at the top of her lungs into a payphone and I think you'll get the idea… I guess it's just hard to believe that this whole time, we've been wasting our efforts here when we could have cut them off in Eastern Europe ages ago… _

_We haven't caught sight of Joham yet. Nahuel thinks it's just a matter of time, but I have my doubts. Daddy Dearest knows when to lay low, especially after that incident in Spain, but at least one thing's for sure: if he wasn't aware of how serious Nahuel was about ripping him to shreds, he sure as hell is now. _

_I'm not going to lie. Lately things have been…difficult. I won't go into details. It's not something I feel comfortable about saying in a letter. Let's just say Serena enjoys her little games. But enough about me. How are you? How's Bella and Reni? What's Minnesota like? Got your package yet? I got mine. :D You were right about the ink—without any venom it just fades away after a couple of hours. I'm still trying to find the right amount to add and it's tricky. I'm sure I'll find it soon enough. Better be in the mood for sushi when I see you. ;P_

_Can you believe it's been a year since we last saw each other? I can't. It seems like only yesterday we were having foot races on the dirt roads. Time flies. I wish it didn't. I wish things could go back to the way they were before everything went to hell (you know what I'm talking about). _

_But of course, we can't change that. _

_Miss you. _

_XOXOXO, Miri _

Her scent, faint yet still discernible, is practically stamped across the thin paper: cherry blossoms and raspberries. I open my nightstand and take out the sheaves of letters wrapped in red ribbon, adding the newest one to the collection. I stand there, holding the bundle for the longest time, rubbing the dry paper between my fingertips.

Something's off. I read the letter again. We're not living in Minnesota. That was just a stopping point for us since the rail system didn't extend to Canada. Once we arrived, we paid the movers their money and Mom drove the moving truck, with us in the front seats beside her, the rest of the way through the border. We arrived in Prince Rupert, British Colombia about two days later. Miri knows this. I know she knows this. This is the fifth time this has happened.

_What are you trying to tell me?_

I continue to stare at the infuriating sheaf, as if giving it the evil eye will force it to divulge its secrets. Needless to say I get no answers. The cold, harsh reality that there's no way to know for sure what's happening to my friend makes my fingertips itch with agitation. I feel the adrenalin in my blood, taste it in my venom, and it takes all of my preciously limited restraint not to bury my fist in the drywall. Instead, I place the sheaves of letters back in the drawer and plop down on my bed.

Breathing exercises might be effective for humans, but they don't seem to do much for my racing heart or mind. I do try, though, meanwhile letting my eyes roam across my new room, partially furnished already with my things—my desk, my dresser drawer, already holding my battered boom box, and of course, my twin-size. I've already plastered the walls with my drawings, and even my desk and dresser are now littered with junk and various detritus I can't help but save. The room itself isn't as big as the old one, but it does have its perks, particularly the ceiling-high window with its fire escape to the roof.

I try to tell myself that it's probably nothing, that she's probably too tired to care about mistakes in her letters to me, but I can't shake the nagging feeling that something is terribly wrong. Doubt and half-formed theories gnaw away at my insides, fueling my worry and discomfort. I shut my eyes tight, trying to will everything away.

Time passes. When I re-open my eyes, my room is black, the night stars outside my window covered by dark grey storm clouds. I enjoy the solitude, the simple comfort an empty dark room can provide. Sighing, I stretch myself out on the bed. My eyes find the drawings on my wall again, particularly the sketches in pencil. I smirk, letting the memories that inspired the drawings replay in my mind.

Just then, the door cracks open, and from the scent in the air I can tell it's Reni. I hear her enter my room, her steps hesitant, heartbeat fast. I lie still, pretending to be asleep. After silently closing my door, she tip-toes farther inside. Thankfully her back is to me, and I hold back a laugh as I spy her dark silhouette. Her back is hunched as she explores the inside of my room, like something out of a Looney Toon episode. I sit up, leaving my bed, creeping towards her, keeping my movements and my breaths low. She doesn't notice a thing. I pounce.

"BBBBLLLLLAAAUUURRGGHHGH!" I roar, and I engulf her in my arms. She shrieks in surprise and delight as I flip her upside down.

"What are you doing in my room, huh?" I tickle her mercilessly, paying close attention to her ribs.

"I wanted…to borrow… your paint set!" she squeals, her explanation interrupted throughout by her high-pitched giggles. She starts squirming like crazy once I start tickling her neck, giggles turning into full-out shrieks, the back of her heels kicking my upper back. With a grunt, I turn her right side up and sling her over my shoulder as if she's a sack of potatoes. Leaving my room, I walk through the hallway and into the living room/ kitchen area. Mom is at the counter, chopping vegetables at vampire speed to our left. On the right, the television is on. She looks up and a smile splits across her face at the sight of us.

"What are you two up to?" she laughs, pouring the veggies in a bowl next to the stove, the blue sleeves of her sweater rolled up.

"Nothing, just playing," I say, dumping Reni on the couch. She giggles as she lands on the cushions, curling into a ball like an over grown kitten. I sit on the floor, reclining against the footrest. Crawling over, she places a palm on my scalp and pleads, "_So, can I_?"

I arch my head back to stare at her.

"Yeah, alright."

I get off the floor and quickly zip back to my room. I'm back outside a minute later, my hands full with paper and my paints. I place some newspaper I swipe from the counter on the floor and then let her loose.

I sit on the couch.

"...and in local news, reports of bizarre animal sightings have continued. The public is warned to avoid any leisure activities in the surrounding wilderness until the animal task force can identify the cause of this strange behavior…."

My eyes are drawn to the television screen at the reporter's words.

"…what do you thinks causing this, Johnny?" the newscaster asks his colleague.

"It's hard to say. There are a lot of contributing factors; depletion of normal food sources, destruction of natural habitat, etc…."

Vaguely I register the shifting of the couch as Mom sits beside me.

"What do you make of this?" I ask mildly, gesturing towards the screen. Her form is hunched towards the television, brows furrowed, hands clasped together as her forearms rest on top of her thighs.

"I don't know. It could be nothing. But until we know for sure, I don't want you two going hunting without me."

I nod, folding my arms against my chest as we listen to the rest of the news. It's unnerving, the report. Like with Miri's letter, I can't shake my feeling of unease. Nahuel's words resurface in my mind:

_There's no such thing as coincidence._

And to think, over a year ago, I was telling him to fuck off…

The memory of his "lecture" causes a foreboding flutter in the pit of my stomach. Déjà vu. I can't take just sitting here, in this suddenly hot, suffocating space, the memory of that shitty afternoon making my skin crawl and my forehead sweat, so I get up and head back to my room.

"Where are you going?" Mom asks, craning her head to look at me.

"The roof," I reply, without looking behind me.

"Be careful."

I grunt in response.

The storm hasn't started yet. So, leaving my rain coat, I slide the glass panes of the window open and step onto the rusty platform. The metallic frame clangs beneath me as I climb up the steps, breezy gusts of wind cutting my face, like cold kitchen knives. But I feel no instinctual urge to retreat back into my room. Reaching the final ladder, I climb up, taking care not to crush the frail, rusty bars in my grasp.

I reach the top and sling my body over the buildings railing, my feet crunching on the ceiling gravel as I adjust my posture into an upright position. The roof is bare. Save for the loose coating of gravel on the floor and some exhaust pipes, the place is deserted. I walk to the middle, admiring the view of the lights from the neighboring buildings, before continuing on ahead. The wind is stronger here, so I zip up my black hoodie out of habit. At the ledge, I rest my hands on the railing and stare down at the world.

Far below me, people scurry around even at this late hour, like ants. I can hear them, their conversations as clear to me as if they were up here on the roof with me. They talk of normal things—relatives, work, school, friends, food, movies, all of it. Bored, I look back up to the sky, frowning at the grey clouds that make the nighttime canvas, once a stunning, irreplaceable art piece in itself, now exactly like the people and their personal dramas below. Unremarkable, uninteresting, and just plain grey.

I run my hand through my hair, trying in vain to soothe my nerves, but to no avail. Two days ago I relished our move to this place, relieved to finally be away from the petty and narrow-minded humans that made up our previous home. All too soon my giddiness faded, as it always did, when the similarities of this new area to the small town became clear. The weather, the rules, virtually everything else was the same. I can't hide from that fact anymore. The truth is the truth, no matter how many times I try to smother it with forced optimism.

I'm going to hate it here just as much as I hated Cherryville.

I can feel it. It's inevitable. The organization, the suburban homes and spoiled brats with their Apple computers and designer jeans, who've never known what true hardship is, who bitch and moan about dishes and food they don't want to eat when millions of others starve, seems to be synonymous in every first world country. And as more time passes, my contempt for this truth seems to only increase.

I miss the freedom of living on the edge. Of being able to explore without some government official tailing you, trying to force you into a classroom for seven hours a day. I miss the sweet, clean air and sky of the tropical forests, without internet or Nintendo DS's or text messages. I mean, technology's fine once in a while, I admit, but now? Memories of Jack and his obsessive text messaging dance through my mind. Facebook over Myspace. Verizon over Sprint. Nokia. Apple, Blackberry…. Christ, who gives a shit?

I miss the sun—the warm afternoons amidst wild flowers and grass, shaded trees and hidden waterfalls. I miss exploring the shady back alleys and tin slums where sinister dealings took place, the invigorating rush I felt when running, not for food but from someone.

Mom's call from my window wakes me up from my wistful yearnings, and I move away from the railing, making my way back to the ladder. I can smell her cooking from here, and my mouth waters involuntarily. As my hand grips the rusty rail of the fire escape, a small seed of hope blossoms despite my melancholic mindset; just two more years and I'll be free of this place.

Six days later I'm in our new bathroom, silently cursing the pompous idiot who developed the concept of school uniforms. I look into the mirror to study myself fully. Tousled mahogany hair greets me along with emerald green eyes and a pale, serious, heart-shaped face. Beneath, long fingers grasp the edges of the sink. Really though, my hands are applying only the most feather-light of pressures. My eyes go down to my attire: a navy blue jacket, white, button-down long-sleeve, complete with a navy blue tie and grey slacks. There's no point denying it. I look like a pretentious douche. My reflection agrees whole-heartedly, face scrunching up in disgust.

"You look dorkie," a child-like voice says matter-of-factly. I turn, my eyes drawn down to a bronze-haired cherub in a yellow nightgown, clutching a worn stuffed lion. "Why are you wearing that?" she asks curiously. I release the shiny porcelain from my grasp and take a step towards her. I crouch down until we're at eye level.

"I'm wearing this because the grown-ups who run the school district are self-righteous, egotistical, shi-"

"Language," Mom murmurs from the kitchen.

"…dummies," I finish, clearing my throat to mask what I was about to say with a more…child friendly response.

I stand up and brush by her, signaling her to follow me into my room. Once inside I grab my school bag from the floor and sling it over my shoulder. Still tired, Reni curls up in my bed under the covers, half her face peeking out and lying flat on the mattress. She lazily watches me dart across the room, gathering my notebooks and pencil.

"Alright Reni, see you later."

"Bye."

In the living room, Mom's on the computer typing out something for work, the sound of the keys mirroring the pitter-patter of the raindrops outside. Hearing my arrival, she turns around in her chair, a strange expression molding into her face as she takes in my attire. She gets out of her seat and walks over to me, silent as a mouse. Once we're face to face, she starts fusing over my tie, to my annoyance. But I say nothing.

"…When did you get so tall?" she finally asks, but her voice is so soft that I throw away the assumption that she's expecting an answer. When she's done, a sad smile is playing on her lips, eyes reflecting the maturity and wisdom her vampiric beauty camouflages.

"Mom, what's wrong?" I ask. She places a hand on my cheek. Instead of flinching away from the cold, I welcome it, her touch soothing the bundle of nerves tangled in my stomach. I cover her hand with mine.

"It's nothing….I just….you grew up so fast."

True. Just last year we were the same height. Now, I tower over her at 5'7, and I'm _still _growing.

"It seems like only yesterday you were sleeping in my arms."

"Mom…" I feel my face heat up with embarrassment.

"I know, I know, sorry." She fixes my collar hurriedly, after glancing up at the clock.

"All right," she says, looking up at me with stern eyes, "have a good day, and remember what Flan taught you. And _please _stay out of trouble."

"Don't I always?" I smirk sardonically. She looks at me pointedly.

"Alright, O.K," I say, rolling my eyes as I hug her goodbye. After putting on my raincoat, I shift my bag and walk out the door.

"I love you."

"Love you too."

Outside, a light drizzle has replaced the cascading drops that just minutes before had dominated the streets. The city is sluggishly awake, the humans groggy as they make their way to their jobs. School doesn't start for another forty five minutes, so I take my time absorbing my new surroundings: apartment complexes, cafes, shopping centers, boutiques, etc.

I'm about halfway to the school when I see it—a small crowd of people gathered at the alleyway. Between the bundled-up bodies I can see the wooden arms of a makeshift cross surrounded by roses, with a picture in the center. I probably shouldn't bother. I mean humans die every day, but the picture on the makeshift cross catches my eye. I walk up to the mourners. I can tell they're not family. If they were they would have been crying, not just…stoic.

I tap one of the men on the shoulder.

"Hey, what happened?' I ask, quietly.

He looks at me, surprised. Be it because of my good looks or blind caring, I don't really care. He rasps out an answer.

"Hit and run. Poor kid never had a chance…..guy was drunk."

I look past him to examine the picture fully: the dead kid looks about nine or ten. I stare at the photograph for another couple of minutes before finally wrenching myself away from the morose memorial. As I walk away, I make a mental note to later warn Mom about this walk route. Reni would have to take the long way to school after all.

The appearance of the tall, imposing grey building signals my arrival: Oakdale High School. I check my watch: 7:40 A.M. I still have time to spare. The front lawn is littered with massive trees and students. It's easy to see which clique someone belongs to despite their uniforms. Already I'm seeing the familiar black and metal wrist bands that growls Goth, the jewelry that squeals popular socialite, and the ruffled clothing that murmurs bullied loner. They're all separated, cut off from each other in their self-absorbed huddles, with only a few strays exploring the outskirts of the circles, quietly relishing the freedom in not belonging to a group.

I cross the street, and trudge my way through the lawn, ignoring the stares and whispers from the people I pass by. Examining the building further, I realize that it's fairly modern, maybe five to six years old.

Once inside, my deductions are proven correct. The locker-adorned walls and stairways are clean and clear of graffiti. I even pass an elevator for the second, third, fourth, and fifth floors. To my right is the main administration office, which I enter. The interior is standard, from the seats, to the counter, to the fat, middle-aged receptionist in the ugly grey sweater, typing away at the computer. Quietly, I walk up to her.

"Excuse me."

She looks up, and instantly her eyes widen at my appearance. I force myself not to roll my eyes as I wait for her come back to earth.

"M-may I help you?"

"I'm new here. I was just enrolled last week." At this, she nods in recognition and begins rifling through a collection of folders to her left.

"Let's see….Oh! Here we are. Anthony Swan?" she asks me, eyes watching me from under her rectangular glasses as her fingers lie in between the papers.

My fists clench involuntarily.

"Yeah."

I hold out my hand to receive the folder, but her eyes have gone back to the computer screen. I let my hand fall back to my side.

"It says here that you have a sibling starting today as well, an Isabella Swan?" She arches her eyebrows at me from underneath her glasses. Again I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"My sister's starting next week. She's already discussed it with the principal."

"Oh?"

"It's in the file." I can't help but let my annoyance slip out.

She looks at the computer screen again, a severe scowl replacing the startled confusion she wore mere moments ago, even when she sees that I'm telling the truth. Reluctantly, she hands me the folder.

"Inside you'll find your schedule and a map of the school. Also, the pink slip will need to be signed by all of your teachers by the end of the week. Just bring it back here when you're done," she sniffs.

"Thanks." I turn around to walk out the door when I'm stopped by her sudden cry, "Wait!" I look back to her, confused. She's not alone anymore. Beside her is a younger guy, a bit older than me, tie loosened, with dirty blond hair and a boyish face. A door behind her is ajar. He walks around to the counter to join me, and as he does so, the receptionist says, "Chris will show you around. If you have any questions, just ask him."

"Uhh, no, it's okay, I can find—"

"Nonsense."

"Just let her do it, she's not gonna budge," Chris whispers to me, slightly amused. I look to him, and subtly he nods.

"All right….thanks."

"Anthony, right?" he says, once were out the doors.

"Tony. Anthony's a mouthful."

"Right. So here's the deal Tony: you got the main office, auditorium, and cafeteria on the first floor." He gestures towards the T-shaped end of the hallway, where a set of double doors are. "The gym is beyond those doors, off to the side of the field, easy enough to find. Now, each floor is for each grade level; Second floor is for the ninth graders, third for the tenth...you get the idea. You're tall for a tenth grader, so the eleventh graders will probably leave you alone, but for Christ's sake, stay away from the fifth floor. The twelfth graders at this school believe strongly in uh, initiating the lower classmen."

I look at him incredulously.

"Yeah, I know, it's fucked up," he responds nonchalantly. We walk towards the stairwell to our left. "Thankfully, it seems like only this year's twelfth graders are bastards, and they'll be gone in June. Anyway, each grade level has a vice principal assigned to it, along with a counselor to help with discipline, college, that sort of shit. There are a lot of students here, so the ADMN needs all the help it can get." He gestures to the room we exited minutes ago. "So if you ever get called to the principal's office, don't go to the main office."

We stop in front of the stairwell and he points up at the steps. "Since you're a tenth grader, go to the tenth grade vice principal. That would be Mr. Fallows. He's in room 24C on the third floor. All right, let me see your schedule." I hand him the paper. "Let's see…Jazz, okay…U.S History…. English with Richards, he's all right….AP Art History." He freezes as he reads aloud my fourth period class. "How the fuck did _you_ get into Allen's AP Art History class?" he asks, amazed.

I shrug."Is he an asshole or something?"

Chris chuckles. "THAT is the understatement of the century." He glances up at the clock and bristles as he realizes what short time we have.

"So that's all the important stuff you need to know." He hands me back the paper.

"Oh, one more thing." With a single finger he points to the ceiling. "The band room is on the ninth grade floor, and Allen's class is on the twelfth grade floor. Lunch is after fourth period."

The shrill ring of the bell brings his informative introduction to an end.

"Well, you got seven minutes to get to class. See you around, kid." And just like that, he walks to the elevator without a care in the world. I'm left with only seconds to think about the information he's given me before the hallway is filled with students. Their chatter blends together in a never ending cacophony as I'm swallowed by the masses, and instantly, I'm annoyed. I begin my walk up the stairwell to my first class.

The second floor consists of hallways adorned with more depressing lines of grey lockers, occasionally broken by the heavy blue doors of the classrooms and transparent squares of windows. When I take my first step into the bustling space, I can now fully appreciate why the seniors are so into "initiating" the freshmen: They. Are. Tiny. Jesus, it's like I've stepped into Disney world, and I'm in Snow White's kingdom. All that's missing is the evil, hunch-backed witch in her black cloak.

Just then, a freshmen wearing a black backpack half his size trudges past me, his back painfully hunched over the strain of carrying the monstrosity. I snort.

As I walk down the hallway to the band room, the other freshmen give me a wide berth. I can practically smell their fear. I remember what Chris told me downstairs. It seems he downplayed the senior's idea of fun drastically. Why the freshmen's torment bothers me I have no idea, but it soon makes sense to me why the building plan of this school is so compartmentalized; it would practically be all-out hunting season for the lower classmen if they were forced to mingle with the seniors' constantly.

I push those thoughts to the back of my mind as I enter the music room.

"Oh my God, did you see him?"

"Who?"

"Hello? The new guy?"

"Where?"

"_There."_

Without looking, I sense her make-up covered gaze hitting the left side of my face.

And she'll gush her excited expletive in 3, 2, 1-

"Holy shit!" she exclaims under her breath. I bite back a snort as I focus on keeping my face impassive. "He's _hot_! What's his name?"

"Tony."

"Does he have a last name?"

"Who cares? The point is he's fucking hot and Taylor's party is this weekend—"

"Stacy, Crystal, do you have anything you'd like to share with the rest of the class?" a stern voice interjects. Mr. Richards, my new English teacher, is glaring daggers at the two foolish girls.

"Um, no?"

"Then please be quiet." He turns back to the white board to write more notes on _Hiroshima, _by John Heresey. I'm in the middle row of the classroom. So far Richards seems okay, but I can't be too sure. After all, I've been wrong before.

The bell rings, signaling the end of class. As I stuff my notebook into my bag I spy from the corner of my eye a group of girls congregating in the corner, whispering to each other whilst sneaking glances at me that they think I don't notice.

"You ask him."

"No, you."

"_I'll_ ask him," says a haughty-looking girl with blond hair. She starts to make her way toward me and I curse under my breath. Hurriedly I sling my bag over my shoulder as I rise out of my seat, but I'm too late.

"Hi."

I turn around. She's shorter than me, with long, platinum-blond hair wrapped in a tight, stylish bun and ridiculously large hoop earrings. My eyes are drawn down to her uniform: standard white dress shirt and grey skirt, but she seems to have put her own spin on it—her sleeves are rolled up, as is her skirt, showcasing more leg. Meanwhile her feet are barely covered by shiny black stiletto heels, designer, no doubt.

I look back up to her face. She'd be considered pretty to most humans, I guess, but not to me. Her hair reeks of peroxide, the tell-tale sign of one who regularly dyes her roots, while her face is…ugh. She's wearing too much eye make-up and foundation, giving her that tan, plastic, fake Barbie look that seems so in these days. What is it with teenage girls and their ambition to become hyper-sexualized blow-up dolls before they're 18? I try to be polite.

"Um…Hello."

She giggles in this high-pitched falsetto way that makes me want to gag. "So," she begins, trailing a manicured nail up my arm, to my increasing disgust, "me and my friends were wondering if—"

"Swan!"

I turn around. Richards is correcting the date on the board—October 11th, 2010. "Stick around. I have to give you your textbook. Girls, get to class," he says without turning around. Blondie pouts regretfully in what she thinks is an adorable way as I step to the side to allow her and her cronies to leave.

Again, I try to keep my face impassive as they walk past me, but inside I can't help the wave of relief that comes with their departure. My arm feels tainted, dirty from where she touched me. I've never wanted a bleach bath more. Once they're gone I walk up to Richards' desk. Without a word he hands me a textbook.

Outside, the hallway traffic is already beginning to die down, so I hurry up the two flights of stairs to the infamous fifth floor. I'm expecting sameness: identical grey lockers, linoleum floors, and stuffy, warm, scent-soaked air.

I'm almost right: identical grey lockers and linoleum floors, but icy, morning air drifts inside from a shattered window to my left, cleansing the area of its collective indoor scent of hot, delicious-smelling bodies mixed with whiteboard marker and other miscellaneous smells.

I walk over to what's left of the window and stick my head out the square hole. I look down, and am greeted by the sight of glass shards sprinkled on the ledge of the building.

"Hello?" asks a frightened voice behind me. I turn around only to find no one there, nothing but lockers. I'm about to start my walk to class when I hear it again.

"Please, is anyone there?"

I don't take another step. My eyes search for the source. I breathe in a lung-full of air in an attempt to root out the location of the mystery voice. Despite the fresh air of the outdoors breezing in through the window, I can still get the vague whiff of body odor, sweat, notebook paper, grass, apple pie and vanilla—

Wait. What? I sniff again. Nope, definitely not mistaken. Apple pie and vanilla draws me closer and closer to the lockers until I'm inches from the metal doors.

"Can someone please let me out?" And then I see it. A flicker of movement in one of the door slits—someone is inside.

"You've got to be kidding me," I whisper to myself.

I reach out to the metal handle and with a simple twist break the lock, opening the door. Out tumbles a kid about my age (well, physically my age). His light brown hair is disheveled, and he's missing his school jacket, but other than that he's fine. I carefully help him up, his thin frame practically glass under my grasp. As he looks up to me his dark brown eyes widen with fear, and he stiffens, to my confusion.

"Y-you wouldn't happen to be a twelfth grader, would you?" he finally asks, fearful.

"No. Tenth." His posture relaxes.

"Thank God," he breathes. He starts brushing himself off. "Thanks for letting me out, I thought I'd be stuck in there all day."

"Don't worry about it. What happened?" I ignore the ring of the late bell.

"Pricks jumped me and my friend on our way to class…Oh shit, Nathan!" And he spins around, back to the line of lockers, and unlocks the one adjacent to his. For the second time today another kid tumbles out of a small, enclosed space. This one is smaller than the first, with russet-colored skin and short-cropped black hair, though he still has his jacket. He's unconscious. With my help, the first boy props him up.

"Should we get help?" I ask him.

"Naw, it's okay—he always does this. He's hella squeamish." He begins to lightly slap his friend's face. Five seconds later, the kid—Nathan—wakes up and stands sluggishly between us, holding our arms for support as his eyelids blink rapidly.

"…What…happened?"

"We got stuffed into lockers and you fainted. You just had to go back for your damn jacket…" the first boy trails off, annoyed. We release him and he sways dangerously on the spot before finally standing still. Well. Relatively still. His back is hunched over and his eyes are on the floor, hand massaging his temple while the other is propped on his thigh. That's when I notice something peculiar about him—his scent. Over his earthy aroma is the hint of something…sour. Nauseating. I smother the thought as another swaying spell hits him and he grabs the front of my jacket and his friend's tie for support.

He probably has a dog for a pet, but still…his scent is making me sick. As he gets back on his feet and takes deep breaths, I realize what the sour scent reminds me of: vomit—fresh, steamy, raw, and sour. He smells like dog and vomit. I swallow the influx of venom—for me, the equivalent of a gag reflux— that surges in my mouth with a thick gulp.

"Sorry," Nathan mumbles to the ground after he gets a hold of himself. He sighs and finally looks up, wearing nothing but a sheepish half-smile. That is, until he catches sight of me. The minute he does his smile drops and his eyebrows shoot up into his forehead. He jerks away from us, slamming himself against the lockers with a metallic bang, his heart pounding as though it's been injected with epinephrine. A look of pure horror now dominates his face, aimed toward me.

"Hey, it's okay. He's a tenth grader," says the first boy, putting his hands up to calm him. Nathan's eyes dart back to his friend's. "He's a tenth grader," the first boy repeats, in a softer voice. After a couple more minutes of calming words, Nathan's shoulders relax and he pushes himself off of the lockers. His sheepish, apologetic smile has re-appeared. I don't buy it. The same sense of unease I felt six nights ago is at the fore-front of my thoughts. It never goes away, even after he says his thanks.

"We should get to class," I find myself saying.

"What do you have next?" the first boy asks.

"AP Art History."

His eyes widen in shock…and delight.

"So do we!" he grins. "I'm Cole. Cole Maxwell."

"Tony Swan."

He leads the way, but we both stop when we notice Nathan's not with us. He's leaning against the lockers again, hand over his heart, eyes fixed on the broken window in front of him.

"Hey, are you coming or what?" Cole asks Nathan, with a hint of concern. Nathan shakes his head, never breaking eye contact with the window.

"You guys go ahead, I-I don't feel well. I'm going home." And without waiting for a response, he turns his back on us and begins his descent down the stairwell, the back of his jacket flapping behind him.

"Is he always that…anxious?" I ask, once he's gone.

"Yeah, pretty much. Admittedly, I've never seen him freak out that bad before. So, uh, I haven't seen you around, are you new or something?"

"Yeah. Today's my first day."

"Hmm." Several seconds of awkward silence passes between us until I decide to just ask the question.

"So, um, they always stuff you guys in there?" We turn a corner.

His face turns beet red. "No. It's not a regular thing. I uh…" he trails off, chuckling nervously, "might have pissed them off royally."

I soon learn why Mr. Allen, a tall, forty-something Caucasian with dirty blond hair and piercing blue-grey eyes, wearing a grey sweater vest over a white dress shirt and slacks, is a bastard. He spends the first five minutes of our arrival chewing us out in front of the class, without even realizing that I'm new, much to my ire. Once he's done, I explain things. He doesn't even apologize. Instead, he gives me a monster textbook and barks at me the assignment. I'm still wiping flecks of his spit off of my face when I sit down.

The class is mostly made up of juniors and a handful of seniors, but they leave us alone. Throughout, Cole can't seem to shut up—about his family, his grades, his life, everything. From his hyper demeanor, I wonder if he has some sort of disorder, ADHD maybe, but I say nothing. I mean I'm half-vampire, who am I to judge? When the bell finally rings, Cole invites me to sit with him and his friends for lunch. But just when it seems like things are getting better, karma, or whatever divine spirit is out there makes a 180 and screws me over.

"Swan, a word," Allen calls to me as I place the textbook back on the shelf. Save Cole, who's waiting at the doorframe, I'm the only student left in the classroom. I walk up to his desk, confused. He's sitting with his arms crossed on the desk, leaning towards me with a look so severe it would turn Medusa to stone. What he says to me catches me by surprise, and for the first time makes me wish I were a human drinker.

"I don't appreciate lateness, and I despise excuses, especially from students who think they can get away with being late their first day simply because it's their first day. If it happens again, I'll have you thrown out of my class." He glares at me from his cold, blue eyes, contempt and judgment curling his thin, rubbery lips, showcasing yellow, coffee-stained teeth.

"The principal of Freedom High School in Massachusetts was kind enough to send me your file." He types something on the computer one-handed, without breaking eye contact. Suddenly my name is on the screen in bold print. Below, words like _vandalist_, _defiant_, _trouble maker_ and _possible mood disorder_ wave hello to me, like old friends. He rises from his chair, and now we're face to face. Different flavors of rage course through my being as his words hit every single one of my nerves.

"I've met you're kind before," he says, nostrils flaring. "…No ambition. No future plans except maybe a jail cell…wasting your life away on childish actions….poisoning the others…..waltzing in here late with an arrogant swagger you don't deserve…"

He crosses his arms. "If I had my way, you wouldn't even be here, in my classroom, let alone this school. But it's not up to me. Rest assured though, the first chance I get, you'll be out of here in a heartbeat." His face is cold and expectant. He wants an outburst. He just might get it, but not in the way he expects.

Inside I'm seething, my vision completely screened over in a red haze. My eyes go to the emerald shards, now visible to me, floating dangerously close to the asshole's head. He has no idea how close he is to being decapitated, to my horror and delight. Just one slip of the hand and his head could be sliced from his—No! I rip my eyes away from his petulant stare. I remember the incident in Flan's office— the panic and fear emanating from the poor man as he tried to grasp a hold of something he could not and will not ever truly know—my savage nature using my anger to briefly break out of its constraints. _I cannot slip up. Not. Again._ The thought reverberates in my mind, and with difficulty I retake control, repeating the exercise that saved Flan. Seconds tick by.

"I'll be sure to remember that," I finally answer, my tone dangerously soft.

His eyes widen a fraction in shock. By his surprise, it's easy to see that this hasn't happened before. Without waiting for a response, I turn and leave.

"Fucking prick," I mutter angrily as we walk out the door and out of earshot.

"I've never seen him that bad before. What did you do?" Cole asks, trailing behind me.

"Nothing….just…he found out about some of the trouble I got into at my old school." We walk down the steps to the first floor.

"Trouble, huh? So, where did you move from?"

"Cherryville, Massachusetts."

"That doesn't sound so bad. So? What. Did. You. Do?"

I shake my head. "Just drop it. It's in the past."

"You get into fights?"

"Cole—"

"Drugs? Pranks? C'mon man, give me something to work with here—"

"Christ, will you just drop it!" I snap at him. He flinches at my tone. We walk down the steps and into the first floor hallway in silence and with each step comes wave after wave of guilt for snapping at my new…friend.

"Sorry," I murmur once we reach the glass door.

"Forget about it." He shrugs without looking at me.. "I never know when to shut up. It's my bad." He pushes open the glass doors.

The cafeteria is a bustling, chatter-filled cavern. Here, it's easy to see where the class lines are drawn: the seniors are mainly at the far right corner of the room, rambunctious and cocky. The juniors, near the middle, like the seniors in demeanor, but more subdue, followed by the sophomores, then finally, the freshmen. The freshmen are closest to the lunch lines. From the awful aroma in the air, I can tell the lunch lady is serving some kind of chicken noodle soup that I'm positive tastes as bad as it smells, so I decide to skip lunch and just go hunting tonight or tomorrow.

"Guy's, this is Tony."

I'm greeted by the five or so other sophomores, some with their sleeves rolled up in an attempt to make their pretentious attire somewhat casual, their jackets strewn over the backs of their seats. We sit down.

"Rumor's that you got lockered," a red-haired boy to our left says to Cole as I remove my jacket.

"Aww, crap, how'd that get around?" Cole asks, mortified.

"Word travels fast."

"Hey, did you get the math homework for—"

So it begins—the trivial questions being bounced around back and forth concerning classes and gossip, how crappy the food is, how they need to get laid before graduation, and who they'd like to get laid by. I'm easily bored. Maybe this place has a more high strung set of students, but beneath the unusual animosity between the upper and lower classmen is the same petty problems the children of Cherryville harbored. I silently inhale a mouthful of air to exhale.

And in that one, innocuous action, I involuntarily shatter the blanket of security my mother has worked so hard to create.

Amidst the mixed, nauseating scent of Axe cologne, fancy perfume, body sweat, crappy soup and linoleum is a scent that should not be here. It is defined, it is heavenly, and it is most certainly not human. And what's worse is that there's more than one.

A low growl, too soft for a human to hear, rumbles in my chest before I can stop myself, before I can even begin to fathom why the hell any of our kind could be here. This time I don't swallow the surge of venom that fills my mouth. I let it coat my teeth, settle into the taste buds of my tongue, its sweet, unique flavor acting as a stimulant for my defensive blood lust.

I sniff the air, trying to find the scent's source, and my gaze is led to the lower right corner of the room, opposite to where the seniors are. Therein lies a table, almost hidden away from the rest of the population. Even though I'm expecting it, my heart jumps in my chest as I recognize the chilling stillness, routinely broken by carefully initiated movements, and the all-too-pale skin. I count five of them; a gorgeous blond girl and a lanky guy covered in scars, a dark-haired giant, a black-haired pixie, and a bronze-haired one, whose back is to me.

Vampires.

The minute the word crosses my mind, the bronze-haired one's head jolts upright, as if hearing me. His companions don't notice.

"Who are they?" I find myself asking aloud.

"Who?" Cole asks. He follows my gaze. "Oh. _Them."_ But instead of adopting a look of absolute terror, he smirks. He looks to his friends knowingly, and suddenly the whole table's grinning like fools. Calmly, he plucks an orange from one of his friend's trays and begins to peel it.

"They're the Cullens."


	6. Hear no evil

My first attempt at E-POV. Hang on people, it's going to be a bumpy ride...

Beta's by Arizona Hale and Pre-read by Kitty

* * *

E

Crystal clear memories race through his mind-

"_I don't know how you can stand it, being around them all the time," Nahuel says. "It's not natural. Vampires are supposed to have HUMAN blood. It can't be comfortable for you…"_

"_We don't mind," I say. "It's really not that big of a deal."_

"_Right," he scoffs._

…

"_We try not to stay in highly populated areas for very long. The high kill count would raise too much suspicion. Why do you think newborn armies are so easy to locate?"Huilen explains, as she brushes her black hair._

_I turn to Miri. "How do you feel about it?"_

_She shrugs. "We have to do what we have to do," she says, quoting Nahuel. I don't miss the hint of distaste in her tone. She doesn't have to say it, I already know: She hates this._

….

"_Protect them," the wizened old man says to me. He leans towards me from his dusty old armchair, knotted hands clutching the armrests with strength surprising for his age. "It's the son's duty to protect the mother and the brother's duty to protect the sister when the father is gone." He looks to Reni, still asleep in her stroller, the cover pulled over so she can have some protection from the sun, then to mom, still busy at the counter, making the drinks. Her back is to us, long brown hair in a tight bun, wearing a light blue sundress. She makes to turn- _

_EDWARD, WE HAVE TO STOP HIM!_

Alice's silent shriek rips my focus away from the boy and draws me back to her. Body taut with terror, she lets her most recent vision overtake her mind; a burning field, the scent of ash wafting through the air. Black cloaked figures tossing chunks of marble body parts into red-orange infernos. To my horror, I recognize the butchered body parts as those of my family's.

_It's still patchy in some areas, but I think we've just found the cause. _She tilts her head towards the boy, still listening to his friend's explanation of who we are. _I can't see his future…,_ her internal voice whispers worriedly, _not directly at least. But I can see ours if we stick to inaction._ Her apocalyptic vision dances through her mind yet again.

"Inaction to what?" I ask firmly, ignoring Rosalie, Emmett, and Jaspers confused gazes.

She grits her teeth as a small growl escapes her throat. Her eyes dart to the imbeciles sitting a few tables away from us.

"Those idiots are planning on starting another fight with the sophomores. I can't see the boy's immediate future, but I can see glimpses of the aftermath." _It's not good, Edward. He's going to inadvertently kill them,_ she continues in her mind, to my utter disbelief.

"What are you two talking about?" Emmett asks, he and Rosalie watching our heated exchange warily. On Alice's left, Jasper tries to calm everyone down, his gift set into overdrive in response to his mate's stressed demeanor.

"The new boy knows what we are," I hiss, and just like that, mind-freezing astonishment and alarm violently replaces their detached aloofness. They lean in closer, thoughts bombarding me with question after question before I murmur quickly, "He's sitting behind me, at the closest sophomore table to us." They look. This time my head fills with their incredulous thoughts as they get their first glimpses of him.

_Impossible._

_Jesus, he looks just like-_

_What the hell is going on?_

"I don't know," I say through clenched teeth, as Rosalie glares daggers at the impossibly familiar boy. Her efforts are futile. He's too engrossed in his friend's explanation to notice.

_Adopted siblings? Of course, how convenient. That explains the pairings. And yet people don't notice how even though they're not related, they all have the same golden eyes? How stupid are these humans? _

"He sees past our cover story," I report, under my breath, "…. and is familiar with the bond between mates. We're not the first vampires he's met." He's looking at us again, mind still trying to figure out why we're here. I don't turn around.

_No. Way. It's like a frickin' replay man…_

_That settles it then, we have to take him out,_ Jasper concludes, cold resolve cementing in his mind.

"How could he know?" Emmett asks me, flabbergasted, unaware of Jasper's internal decision. He looks to Alice then back to me, expecting an answer.

"It doesn't matter _how_ he knows," Rosalie interjects angrily. She tosses another look at the boy, eyes narrowing. "The fact is, he knows way too much." She lets her cold implication hang in the hot, stuffy air, like a rotting corpse from a tree.

"We left _her _alive," Alice reminds her. _And_ _if she makes one more jibe about Bella I swear to god I'm going to rip her hair out right here and now._

"And look at the mess _that_ caused."

An angry hiss escapes my throat and Alice's before we can stop ourselves. She makes to rise from her seat but Jasper sends out a wave of calm that effectively placates her for the time being.

"He's just a kid_,"_ Emmett says to her, regrettably.

"It's to protect us all," Jasper instead answers, clasping Alice's hand on top of the table. His expression softens at her conflicted face. "…This isn't the same situation," he murmurs to her, "you know that."

"No. It's worse."

"What do you mean?"

She makes eye contact with me and I nod. She turns back to them, pausing for a second, before answering, "I saw a vision of him killing-"

Boisterous laughter booms throughout the air. A whoosh of air wafts past our table, the scent of human blood thick and tantalizing, though the burn in my throat is nothing. I turn in my seat to watch the procession of immature brats saunter over to the sophomore area and begin their ill-disguised hazing of the younger population.

"Shit! It's starting,"Alice moans.

I'm vaguely aware of the creaking of the chairs as the rest of my family joins me in watching the scene unfold. I already know what he looks like, thanks to his friends mildly interested gazes, but my mind still reels at the sight of him. He looks so much like _her…_

His profile is the only view of him available to us; Untamed, rich, dark brown hair complements a thin, heart-shaped face. He's tall, too tall to be mistaken for a freshman. However, the sharp contours of his bone structure are clear hallmarks of one going through the physical transition from boy to man. He must be at least a sophomore. Junior, maybe, but that would be reaching.

His features are somewhat vampiric: beneath the white cotton of his long-sleeve I can make out the shape of his arms and back muscles: strong and powerful, despite his young age. Meanwhile, dark purple circles under his eyes are brought out by his milk white skin, adding to his allure, if the thoughts of the surrounding female sophomores are any indication.

But then there are the key differences: his wide, emerald green eyes, still trying to hide the interest his mind betrays as he listens to his friend, and the faint twinge of red in his cheeks. And most of all, his heart beat, slightly faster than normal, but beating, no doubt: Alive.

He has to be human. A very handsome human, but human nonetheless. How many have I seen with the same purple shadows under their eyes, exhausted from whatever trivial pursuit they've subjected themselves to?

_Okay. So they've been here for about a year, and the bronze-haired one just came back this year….. Christ, why the hell would anyone want to play this charade over and over? It's infuriating enough the first time around…Should I leave or stay? Call home or wait it out? Fuck! What the hell are the odds of this happening? Why are they here? What the hell am I supposed to do?_ Panic, confusion, and indecision laces his mental monologue, mounting with each passing second, making his mind zip from thought to thought, memory to memory at such an abnormally rapid rate I can no longer discern clearly what he is thinking.

I look away, pulling out of his mind in the process. Sighing Rosalie rests her head in her palm, propping her arm up by her elbow.

_I can't believe this _she whines. _Here, of all places…will we ever get any peace? _she trails off. Her mind continues on with her litany of frustration and resentment, but I hear none of it as Alice's vision creeps back into my consciousness and reminds me of why we cannot just simply wait out the rest of the school day and then attack.

"They have to be related," Emmett says, comparing the two in his mind. _Besides the eye color, they could be twins, _he reasons. I shake my head. The logic that is stirred from the bowels of my mind is adamant.

"She wasn't lying when she said her parents were her only immediate family. And no distant relative would have that much of a resemblance to her. It has to be a coincidence." _And God's way of tormenting me, _I think to myself wryly.

Yet…what are the odds of meeting a child, almost the same age, virtually identical, and as dangerously observant and knowledgeable as Bella? Here? Not even a decade after that appalling day?

"Who is he going to kill?" Jasper asks, eyes locked on the boy again, still remembering my interrupted report from before.

"Brent Clark and his idiotic friends," I tell him. "They bullied the information that the boy is a new student out of one of the office aides, so now they want to haze him. He's not going to take it well." As I say this, the voices at the sophomore table raise an octave, signaling the beginning of the chain of events that will end with slaughter.

"Bastards," Alice mutters, eyes shut tight as she massages her temple.

Rosalie slams her fist against the table top. "Why should that matter to us?" She turns to me, eyes on fire. "And what are you talking about? He's going to kill them _here?_ Right now?"

"Yes."

She conveys her frustration, anger and exasperation in a rough, animalistic snarl that thankfully nobody hears.

"Well this is just fucking perfect. Thousands of miles away and _her_ presence still follows us, one way or another." I'm not fooled by her acidic rant. Her mind truly is a shallow pool, with self-denial and selfishness floating on its clear surface; after all this time, she's still bitter about my preference for a human over her. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"…like history repeating itself."

"You're joking right?" Emmett asks me, while his wife goes on with her rant, disbelief dominating his face. I shake my head. His eyes widen in alarm. He opens his mouth, but Jasper beats him to the punch.

" How?" he asks, eyes still trained on the boy.

"I don't know," Alice answers, before I can. "I'm still just seeing the aftermath. It looks like…he cuts them to pieces. But given the time frame and how clean the wounds are….that's impossible…"

"Whoa, whoa, what-"

_It's always something. Fuck my life,_ the boy thinks to himself bitterly, as he stares up at a sadistically smirking face with contempt and barely concealed impatience. From his friends worried gazes, I can see that he's standing now, the hulk of testosterone-filled buffoons surrounding him. He's trying to leave, but Brent stands obnoxiously in his way, knowing full well what he's doing. Annoyance rolls off of the boy in waves.

"It's going to be accidental, I can ascertain that much," Alice mutters. "Can't you feel it? The power? It's practically radiating off of him." And I can. To the humans, it feels as though an invisible force is gently caressing their bodies, like a breeze, making the hairs on their arms stand up. My family's uneasiness mounts. Their thoughts become synonymous:

_What is he?_

"Their deaths will bring the Volturi here, and we'll be blamed," Alice whispers, eyes fixed on the boy. "Certain things I still can't see, but this situation, if we don't intervene now…we'll be signing our own death warrants." At her words, the rest of my sibling's faces grow, if possible, whiter.

"Alright, so we prevent the fight, then take care of him after school," Emmett reasons after a long pause. He sits upright, flexing his back muscles.

"It's not that simple," Alice grits, eyes scrunching up into little slits of pain even as her fingertips continue to rub her temple. Jasper scoots closer to her and wraps his arm around her petite form. She curls into him, finding comfort, her thoughts filling with appreciation towards him… and the string of Germany's national anthem in Cantonese.

"Alice, what are you hiding?" She doesn't answer. Jasper sends out a wave of calm, melting my frustration like a block of ice, though ineffective against my resolve. She avoids my eyes, shaking her head as the song in her head switches to Arabian.

"ALICE!"

She flinches, externally and internally, and I finally get a peek of what she's shielding from me.

It's not what I expect. I almost don't believe it. I lean back in my chair, shutting my eyes tight, trying to will everything away.

"I can't see you actually killing the boy," she continues, quietly. "But I can see _its_ aftermath. Or rather, glimpses of it." She draws up the full image in her mind: Me, in a marble hall, before the three brothers, eyes empty and black. The same cloaked figures as before are now behind me, grabbing my arms and arching my neck back. Bared teeth. Growls. The sounds of ripping metal.

I pull out of her mind. I don't know what to make of this. Confusion? Fear?

In just a matter of minutes, this boy has single-handedly turned my barely stable world upside down. No, not upside down. Torn it apart, completely. Another thing he seems to have in common with the girl he so hauntingly resembles.

God, why are you doing this to me?

As if channeling my inner angst, Alice groans and slumps against the table top.

"It's like…like watching a movie with all the scenes containing the main character deleted, until all that's left is a plot that makes no sense," she mumbles. She sits up as the verbal abuse from the sophomore area arouses laughter and jeers from the crowd, and turns to me, golden eyes hard.

"If he dies, so will you."

As the rest of my siblings sit, thunderstruck, I stare numbly back at her. She stares back, and for the first time, true, blind, uncertainty and fear, fear for me, dominates her thoughts. The confidence brought on by her visions has been extinguished, like a candle left out in the rain. Jasper inhales a breath of air to center himself, a common habit of his before unleashing a particularly concentrated dose of calm.

He stops mid-inhale, and looks back to the sophomores, bewildered. "He smells odd," Jasper mutters, his nostrils flaring as he sniffs the boys strange scent again. I've noticed it as well. Dark chocolate mixed with the rough scent of smoke; bitter, yet subtle and rustically pleasing. Nostalgic, even. The scent triggers previously forgotten memories of mine to resurface, memories of cozy afternoons indoors as rain pelts my Chicago home, the mixed scents of melting chocolate from the stove and cigarette smoke from the living room blending into a sweet, yet masculine aroma. It's a mocking contrast to the current situation. A fond tidbit of my human life is now a marker of our possible destruction.

"He smells pleasing…but not appetizing," Jasper whispers to himself. He uses his power to reach out to the boy, trying to gauge his mood.

He feels nothing.

Confusion and fear permeates his normally level-headed mind. After a few more attempts, he finally comes to an eerie conclusion: He cannot feel the boy's emotions. This realization leaves him in a rare state of panic. "It's like he's not even there," he mutters to himself._ How can this happen? First Alice, now me. _We lock eyes. _Edward, can you read his mind?_

Before I can answer, Alice jolts out of her seat, hands clutching the edges of our table.

"We don't have much time," she breathes. Her eyes are partially unfocused, her mind still searching the censored future. "We'll have to act fast." _I'd say in about_ _two minutes Edward. You and Emmett should go. Jazz can stay here with us and stop his friends from interfering. It'll look too suspicious if we all throw ourselves in, and if blood is spilled… . _She watches Jasper from the corner of her eye.

"What do you think guys? Should we teach the new kid some manners?" Brent stares down at the boy, a sadistic grin on his face as his mind conjures ways he can humiliate his newest victim. His friend's rumble of agreement is like the start signal to our suddenly desperate task.

_He_, however, does not cower or show any indication of submission. Quite the opposite: He stands his ground, black rage born out of frustration, panic, and annoyance practically oozing out of his every pore. His fists ball so tightly that I expect the bluish veins to burst out of his chalk-white skin.

_Don't take the bait. C'mon Tony, just sit and keep your head down, _Cole Maxwell silently pleads as he anxiously watches the stand-off before him.

_Fuck! I don't have time for this….have to get out of here…_ I try to sink deeper into his mind, but am met with a problem even more disconcerting than before; his memories have melted into a indiscernible mess of disjointed shapes, bleeding into each other like a ruined water color painting while his internal monologue has become a shrill, incomprehensible death metal scream. It overwhelms my mind, and a new sensation is born, something I haven't felt in over one hundred years: nausea.

"Get the fuck out of my way," he snarls to Brent.

"Ooh, temper, temper."

_A minute and forty two seconds Edward!_

The seniors have cocooned him in their circle now, cutting off any chance of escape. The action is eerily familiar. A certain night in Port Angeles rears to the forefront of my mind before I can stop it.

I make my decision in a heartbeat.

"Emmett, restrain the boy," I say to my brother, as I rise out of my seat. "I'll handle Brent. Jasper, calm everyone down once we arrive and Emmett has him." Understanding sparks in Alice's eyes.

I start walking, Emmett a step behind, as Alice informs Rosalie and Jasper my intentions.

_Aww yeah, it's goin' down now, _Emmett mentally crows in delight, needlessly cracking his knuckles.

"Focus," I snap, as Brent starts shoving the boy, to the amusement of his friends.

"So what're ya gonna do about it, huh pretty boy? Cry to your sister? Jackson works in the office and got a glimpse of her Friday, apparently she's a hot piece of ass. Maybe if she pays me a visit I'll consider leaving you alone-"

The single sound of a balled fist colliding with chest muscle and bone reverberates in my perfect ears, and for a moment time seems to slow down. I watch from the astounded eyes of the crowd as the force of the boy's -Tony's- punch knocks the wind out of Brent and sends him staggering backwards into an empty table with a screeching crash. Five long seconds pass, feeling more like hours, and Tony's rage-filled face falters as the realization of what he's done sinks in. Brent's friends snap out of their shock and swarm in like vicious beasts, full of outrage and foolish bravado

We hurry. Through the gaps in the mob, I see his form: oddly secure, despite the attempts to tackle him to the ground and the flurry of fists that pummel his body. My curiosity and astonishment rises. From the thoughts of his assailants, I can see that their brutish punches, pushes, and tugs are doing negligible damage, though they don't notice, being so caught up in their adrenalin-filled rush.

All are oblivious to the growing danger. I don't have to be a mind reader to see that the boy is holding something back. With each tug and punch to his stiff body, I see in his eyes his rationality slipping away piece by piece. An all-too-familiar animalistic spark lurks behind his pupils, a spark that screams bloodlust and savagery itching to be released amongst the lambs. He is truly a predator on the verge of going rabid.

It's obvious now, I should have noticed it before, but I was too arrogant to even entertain the possibility; He's not normal, not in the least.

"Holy hell, he was holding back!"Emmett exclaims mirthfully, as we waste no more time and rush into the crowd. The humans recognize our presence and shy away from us, allowing a wide berth, in part due to Emmett's size. Quickly, we reach the mock arena and put the plan into action; Jasper's mixed wave of paralyzing shock, awe and aversion descends on the surrounding seniors. They react to his gift and back away, melting into the part of the crowd nearest to Brent, where he's still leaning against the table trying to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Emmett encases Tony in the cage of his powerful arms from behind, much to his surprise and panic.

I stride over to Brent, ignoring the hushed murmurings and frustrated grunts of Tony and Emmett as he tries to break out of Emmett's iron-clad hold. In no time, Brent and I are face to face, my form blocking his view of Tony.

"What the fuck, Cullen?"

He's still nursing his bruised chest as we stare each other down.

_Since when does emo-kid play super hero? _he thinks, grumpily.

"This ends now. Leave him alone." His eyes narrow at me, anger and embarrassment making his face flush crimson. As he makes up his mind on what to say, he ignores the instinctive impulse to heed my warning, and lets his childish need to prove himself in front of his peers overtake what little common sense he has.

"Or what?" he scoffs in an attempt to repair his fractured ego. "You'll beat me in a spelling contest? Tell your fake daddy? Get the fuck out of here. This is between me and…that… little…" His voice begins to go weak as I lock onto his pale blue eyes and take a step closer, letting my contempt darken and twist my features until there's nothing left but the monster my inhuman beauty hides. He finally allows his subconscious to govern his reactions and shrinks into himself, his hands grasping the table behind him, the natural fear my species presence invokes overwhelming his pathetic mind. Behind him, his friends fidget and grumble nervously, sensing their leader's fright.

_Holy shit! Fucking freak…. _

I smell his fear. It mingles with his expensive cologne and perspiration like the finishing touches of a decadent dessert, and I welcome it. For the first time in years, I feel as though I have a purpose. I can be of some use, and that knowledge in itself is almost enough to numb the ever- present heart-ache that has become my constant companion in this wretched half life I've condemned myself to.

The whelps labored breathing draws me back to the present. In my dark reveling, I've unconsciously taken another step forward. Our noses are inches apart, his shallow, putrid breaths invading my enhanced olfactory senses with vestiges of his disgusting lunch. I speak so only he can hear.

"Leave him alone," I hiss, and watch in satisfaction as the black dots of his pupils dilate and the pace of his heart speeds in his bruised chest. "Or you will wish I let him take you on. Your choice."

_DAMMIT EDWARD…shit…CUT THE DRAMATICS AND HURRY UP! Kid…fucking…strong….what the…..hell…..is…his mother…FEEDING HIM? _Emmett grunts as Tony continues to thrash against him. I'm about to turn around and assist him when the mental voices of the adults register in my consciousness. I take a step back from Brent, who's still paralyzed with fear. To my right, the crowd parts for a second time as Principal Dwight enters the circle, along with Mr. Allen and a several members of the campus security.

"What's going on in here?" he asks authoritatively. He looks to me and Brent, then to Tony and Emmett behind us, his eyes widening a fraction when he realizes what has just happened.

_I wouldn't expect this from the Cullens. "_You four." He gestures to all of us in the circle. "-Fifth floor, right now." He signals for the incompetent security behind him and they immediately rush past him and surround us, separating and forcing us into single file.

_Dude, this has to be the weirdest day we've had since Bella and Forks…._ Emmett comments wryly. As one of the guards urges Emmett forward with a push of his hand, he continues. _I think that kid has a fever. This narc's temperature is nothing compared to his. His skin felt like fire…He does look a bit sick, doesn't he?_

_I knew that punk was a bad seed,_ Mr. Allen scoffs.

_Those idiots are lucky they're in the playoffs… _

_And of course, this has to happen the day I bring my favorite meatloaf for lunch…_

_It's always Clark. Christ, when is Harold going grow some balls and expel that smug brat?_

"_I've already called Carlisle and Esme," _Alice silently tells me, as the campus officers usher Emmett, Brent, Tony and I out of the cafeteria. They escort us in silence through the hallway and up the stairwell while Principal Dwight leads the way and Mr. Allen takes the rear.

_So what's the next move? _Emmett asks behind me as we trudge up the stairs.

"Alice has already informed Carlisle and Esme," I whisper to him, too low for the humans to hear. "Do nothing for now."

At the bottom, Tony is frantic with panic and anger, his mind still racing at an impossibly alarming rate. I'm about to search for Alice when a small slice of coherent thought slips out of the jumbled mess that is his mind. What I hear makes my jaw drop in shock.

_The big one told me he wasn't going to hurt me….goddamn liar. What the hell does he call 'taking care of me' after school? The other one mentioned two other people…. Shit, that means there are seven of them….._

He heard me. _He heard me._ And not just me, I realize as I strain to listen further; his frantic inner-monologue reveals that he has heard at least forty percent of our conversation in the cafeteria, specifically our plans on how to deal with him.

What is he? A gifted human? Something else?

At our arrival, they place each of us into separate classrooms, and just when I think I can't be taken off guard anymore today, Alice's mental voice reaches me from the cafeteria:

_We were wrong. I don't know how, but we were. Either Bella lied to us about her family or she simply doesn't know about him….Edward, his name is Tony Swan._

* * *

B

"Attention customers. All Sci-fi purchases are currently fifty percent off from now until the twenty fifth-" the aged intercom system cheerfully dictates from the ceiling. I roll my eyes, smiling to myself. I look back down to my daughter, her eyes expectant and slightly impatient.

"I want to read it," she says, arching her head back to stare up at me.

"Be my guest." I smile down to her. She turns to the first page and begins to read aloud:

"Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter. They lived with their Mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a very big-"

The ringing of my cell phone interrupts Reni's narration. I pull it out of my pocket, Reni eying it with disdain, and examine the caller I.D. P.R.U.S.D-Oakdale High School.

Tony. No, not again. With a sigh, I press talk and hold the phone to my ear, shutting my eyes tight, hoping that this isn't what I think it is.

"Hello?"

"Hello, am I speaking to the…." She pauses, and in the background I hear the hurried ruffling of papers, "…..sister of Anthony Swan?"

"Yes, this is she."

"You're his legal guardian?" I hear a hint of disbelief in her tone.

"Yes, I am. What is this regarding?" I already know what she's about to say, but it's still a heavy blow, nonetheless.

"Your brother was involved in an altercation with several other students today at lunch. We'll need you to come down to the school and speak with his Vice Principal, Mr. Fallows. He'll be on the fifth floor, room 24E."

"I'm eight blocks away and not in possession of a car. It may take a while…" I tell her.

"I'll be sure to tell them that," she sighs in exasperation. I hang up the phone, disappointment and helplessness filling my gut, until I feel almost…faint.

"What's wrong Momma?"my daughter asks, turning around. Her wide, innocent brown eyes search my face. I hug her close to my chest.

"Your brother got into a fight at school," I tell her. Her eyes widen in surprise.

"But… it's his first day!" she exclaims.

"Yes, it is, which is why when we see him he's going to be in very big trouble. I'm sorry sweetie, the school wants to talk to me about it right now. We'll have to finish the book another time."

Disappointment darkens her face, her shoulders slumping. "Will it still be here?" she asks me, as we get up off the floor.

"Of course," I assure her.

"Mmhhh," she pouts hesitantly. "Okay."

If I were not so used to her mannerisms I would be caving in at the sight of her. She's too adorable for her own good.

She clasps my hand as we walk past the book shelves and make our exit. I push through the glass doors and lead the way down the sidewalk, the cold, moist air hitting our faces. The streets are filled with cars, the sidewalks with people. I let my mind wander as we snake our way through the crowds.

"_This has to stop," I say, voice hard, even as my throat burns from the sweet, delicious aroma of human blood splattered across the t-shirt he wears. He leans against the blank expanse of wall beside his bed, expression sullen, thumbs in his pockets, avoiding my gaze. _

"_This recklessness you've been practicing isn't a luxury we can afford. When you're of age, you can go wherever you want, do whatever it is you want to do with your life, but until then, you're under my roof and care. I want you to promise me, right now, that you'll stop playing this game."_

_He lets out a frustrated growl and pushes himself off of the wall, running his red-stained hand through his hair as he paces the small, enclosed space of his room. The action is so reminiscent of his father my breath almost hitches._

_No, c'mon, focus. I cast the paralyzing thoughts away, re- planting my mind firmly in the now._

_He comes to a stop in front of his detritus-laden bed._

"…_Fine….I promise," he says finally, turning to glare at me._

_I don't miss the hint of sarcasm in his tone. He's confident that I won't call him out on it. _

_He's wrong._

_I walk up to him, my head reaching his nose. _

"_I won't tolerate this behavior anymore Anthony." He hiss's at my usage of his full name. "I shouldn't have tolerated it from the beginning, and that's my mistake, but I will not be making it again."His eyes burn with challenge and resentment, mine with authority. I fold my arms, drawing him under my penetrating gaze._

"_You talk about wanting to leave, about being on your own, and that you're ready for it. And yet what have you done to show me that this is true, that you're mature enough for that kind of life? Sneaking out, getting into fights, looking for trouble, mayhem… stealing, and for what? Because I chose to move us here? Because you didn't get your way? What you've been doing amounts to the equivalent of a temper tantrum, something a toddler does…How is that mature? Adult?" Minutes pass. A stoic, calm mask replaces his twisted, enraged one. He breaks eye contact, shame burning in his cheeks, and walks over to the expanse of wall near his bed. Leaning back against it, he folds his arms and hangs his head. He takes a deep breath._

"_I just don't understand why we had to come here." He looks back up at me, disgust in his eyes. "We're not human, mom, no matter how much you want us to act like we are. I hate this, hate having to play this fucking joke of a life while a war concerning people WE KNOW is happening right under the entire world's nose. He kicks himself off of the wall and sits down on the bed. He plucks a shiny hoop earring out from between the sheets and twirls it around his fingers absentmindedly._

"_I can't stand it, pleasing those shithead teachers. What the hell do they know anyway? Dates and grammar rules and how to do equations…and they expect me to give them my respect?"he scoffs to himself angrily._

_I sit beside him. _

"…_I know everything seems unbearable right now, I do. But you have to trust that I know what's best for you-"_

_A humorless chuckle escapes his lips._

"_Of course. That's your answer, isn't it?" he quips sardonically. "Just blindly go along with your lead? Be a good little boy and keep my head down like some frickin lap dog? I'm sure that'll please the faculty…"_

"_I'm not saying you have to be a teacher's pet, or change who you are. Just, be more careful around them and stop taking stupid, pointless risks."_

"_Hmmm." _

"…_.It won't always be like this, you know that, right?" He's silent again, examining the fragile gold of the earring between his fingertips with false interest. I place a hand on his shoulder. When he doesn't brush it off, I scoot closer and give him a one-armed hug. _

"_It'll get better. I promise."_

Should I have seen this coming? Doubt takes root and flourishes from my uncertainty, snaking its poisonous tendrils around every reason for moving back to Northern America and devouring them, one by one.

It feels as though I'm at a dead end. My decision to re-immerse ourselves in the modern world has only proven to serve as a catalyst for his volatile behavior, and as Reni and I cross the soaked roads and pass the multitudes of humans, I can't help but think that maybe we should have stayed in South America. Or at least have stayed in hiding somewhere else.

Tony flourishes well under my lessons. In actuality, he probably knows more than his human teachers by this age. Maybe this is a sign that-

Reni's abrupt halt in the middle of the sidewalk almost causes me to slip and fall backwards onto the wet pavement. Her tiny, mitten-covered hand is clenching mine in a claw-like grip shocking for even a half-vampire her age.

"Reni?" I look down at her. She's staring straight ahead, stiff as a board, her eyes wide with fear and fixed on the intersection in front of us. I recognize the look immediately.

I crouch down until I'm at eye level with her, her mitten-hand still clutching mine. She blinks at me rapidly, on the verge of tears. I cradle her face with my free hand, caressing her cheek with my thumb. Her skin is like fire to me, mine like ice to her, but the action seems to provide some form of comfort, nonetheless.

"It's okay, sweetie. Is it a feeling or a picture? I ask her, ignoring the confused passerby and chilly wind.

She chews her bottom lip and stares at the ground.

"Feeling," she mumbles. She dregs up the memory, and my mind fills with what she felt as we neared the intersection: a foreboding, heart-stopping rush of terror. Alien. I look back at the innocent–looking intersection, cursing myself for not doing a more thorough investigation of the city's mortality history. It does seem to be a busy street. A car accident perhaps? That seemed to be the most likely explanation…

I look back to my daughter and my heart clenches in remorse; her chocolate brown eyes are wide and glassy as she tries to contain the overwhelming, alien emotions she does not understand.

"Oh, it's alright. Come here," I croon softly to her, and I hug her to my chest. Her tiny arms wrap around my neck. Murmuring words of comfort, I lift her up and carry her away from the intersection, away from the shadow of death that has seeped into the drenched pavement like an evil spirit, excreting its poisonous presence out into a world that can no longer acknowledge it.

I walk back towards the bookstore and switch to the opposite side of the street from a previous stop light. Remembering the layout of the city, I easily identify the safest route to take and continue on to the school, Reni still in my arms.

They say time heals all wounds, but I know that's a crock. The biggest in existence. If time healed all wounds, I wouldn't have a gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be. Tony wouldn't be tormented by his subconscious whenever he slept. And Reni…I watch her from the corner of my eye. She's hauntingly still, face impassive, her usual, infectious smile wiped from her face.

I hug her closer to me as I trudge on, her rapid heartbeat a constant drum against my silent chest.


	7. Speak no evil

I own nothing written by Stephenie Meyer.

Beta: Arizona Hale

Pre-reader: Kitty

Special thanks to the above mentioned for this chapter. Seriously, you guys are rockstars and this chapter wouldn't have been as good without your corrections and advice.

The following takes place around 20-30 minutes after Edward, Tony, Emmett, and Brent are placed in their separate rooms. It's all T-POV.

* * *

The air is musty and old; it leaves a woodsy after taste on the back of my tongue. I swallow again, or at least try to. Sweet, thick venom does nothing to quench my thirst, like downing maple syrup when all you want is water. I clamp down on my jaw just as I feel another rumble in my chest manifest. Indecision still mucks up my mind as I kick myself off of the door to examine the room; several broken desks rest against the right wall, dusty and pathetic looking, while a lone, oak, teacher's desk sits innocently near the back. Directly behind it is the chalkboard, and to _its_ left is the window.

Vampires. Here. Of all the godforsaken cities on this damn planet, why-oh-fucking-why does it have to be this one? Are they with the Volturi or Joham? Clearly they're not hybrids, so the likelihood of them being with Joham is slim, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything…

I bite my lower lip and come to a stop in the middle of the room. I glance at the left wall, then the right.

I try to think critically; there are seven of them. Joham wouldn't station that many in just one measly city. He'd at least spread them out around the whole state, so the Volturi must be the best bet. After all, that blond bitch is obsessed with keeping the secret. A wave of dread hits me hard. I start pacing again, my right hand unconsciously running through my hair.

Isn't that what they do? Keep watch over a suspicious area, then report back to Italy? But what would be suspicious about this place? I replay my day to myself. According to Cole, these vamps have been here for about a year, long before we decided to move, so the reason for them being here can't be for us. Right?

I sit down on top of the teacher's desk and lean back until my body's laid out over the table with my arms behind my head. I close my eyes. Maybe I'm giving Joham and the vampire police too much props. And if that's the case, then there's only one other person in the world who would resort to such extreme measures to find our location.

Just the thought of her makes me feel…scared. Like a child. I hate it_—_ the fear and paranoia, even after all these years. I still feel like she's here, watching me with that calculating, demonic look in her eyes.

She's dead, though_. _Dead and gone and never coming back_._

_But there's still her lackey,_ I remind myself. I remember the red-eyed blond, his face a mask of fury as he watched our plane ascend. The memory makes my skin crawl.

_He's a tool._ _A stupid, love-struck, misguided, dangerously determined tool who has eternity to plot his so-called revenge._

Great.

He couldn't have known, though, that we would be returning to this part of North America. Not a chance in hell. Besides, no matter how much brainwashing he could have put any newborns through, they would have wised up fairly quickly after the first year and jumped ship. Especially if they were vegetarians. I remember the vamps' eyes in the cafeteria: gold.

There's one explanation left, and it makes the least sense: that they're here because they _want_ to go to class, because they _want _to masquerade as humans. I've only been in the _glorious _western school system for a little more than a year, and I can't stand it. I can't imagine how it might feel for a normal vampire. And I don't care if it'll help with our cover story and force us to identify socially with our "peers" and "civilized" society; the minute I turn seven I'm done with this shit.

The whispered words coming from the room to my left draws my attention.

"No, I don't."

A pause. Edward speaks again.

"I don't care if you look older than me. The last I checked, you're still 95, and I'm 109. "

More silence. Confused, I look to the room to my right, then back to the room to my left.

"I don't know. They've already called his parents. We'll just have to wait and see," he says once more, sounding exasperated.

While Emmett never says a word, Edward keeps talking to him through the wall. No rhythmic noises in the back ground, so they're not doing Morse code_—_ not to mention they can't see each other_—_ so I guess I can rule out miming. _It's almost as if…_ A particular memory prods insistently at my consciousness, begging to be remembered. _As if…_

My breathing hitches and my heart skips a beat.

"_I know for a fact that the leader, Aro, can read minds," Nahuel says casually, as he leans back in his chair. _

_My tiny hands grasp the metal bars of the banister. Nahuel and Mom are downstairs in the kitchen, while Huilen, Miri and Reni are in the bathroom playing dress up. The edge of the kitchen floor and table, and Nahuel's chair by extension, is just barely visible from where I'm watching._

_The clinking of the dishes stop. I can practically taste the fear and worry rolling off of Mom, but before I can ask her what's wrong, she speaks._

"_So," she begins, tentatively, "everyone's plans are pretty much laid out before him."_

_Nahuel pauses in his seat, the back legs of his chair balancing precariously on the tiled floor. He arches forward, and with a thump, plants the front legs firmly back on the ground as he corrects himself._

"_Sort of. It's a bit more complicated than that. He SEES everything the person has ever thought about. Practically your whole life story is revealed to him. There are drawbacks, though. He has to be touching the person in order to read them. But then again, from what I've heard, Aro doesn't go to his prey. The prey is brought to him." _

_I watch as he pulls a cigarette out of his front pocket and lights it with a match. He gets up from his chair and walks deeper into the kitchen where I can no longer see him; to the sink under the window, where Mom is. Wispy trails of smoke swirl up to me; the scent is similar to my own, but not really. It's chemically synthesized. Fake. I can taste the nicotine and burnt paper, bitter on my tongue._

"_That won't hurt you?" Mom asks curiously._

_He takes another drag before answering, "No. We're still half immortal, so we're naturally immune to any ailments suffered by the humans."_

"_Such as?"_

"_All diseases, including ones brought upon by certain lifestyle choices."Another long pause. The sound of the faucet gushing out water fills the silence._

"_Anything else? About Aro?" she finally asks. He doesn't answer. Seconds tick by._

"_Nahuel?" _

"_Are you sure you want to hear this?" _

_She lets out a frustrated sigh. _

"_Just tell me."_

_I lean in closer, grasping the metal bars impatiently. _

"_He's a collector. Of everything: art, treasure, clothing, books…people."_

_People? Like slaves?_

"_People?" Mom asks, confused as I am._

"_Well, to be more specific, other vampire's abilities. He's always looking for interesting gifts he can add to his guard." The tinkling shatter of glass pierces the air. Mom's no longer breathing. _

_I don't get it. So the guy finds abilities interesting; what's so upsetting about that? Mom's so weird. First she gets sad over the piano, then this…I tune back in. Nahuel's voice has become a gentle murmur._

"_Nothing will happen to them. He has no idea about us, and we've been around for over a century. Besides, it's not like he ever leaves his castle. He'd never get the chance to personally read any of our minds. Unless of course, one of us were to walk straight into his arms, and we know THAT'S not going to happen." _

_The sound of their footsteps signals that they are moving away from the window. I hear the scraping of chairs as Mom joins him at the kitchen table, Nahuel sitting again at its head, his back to me. Leaning back in his chair again, he twirls his cigarette in his hand before continuing on "We're lucky that bastard can't read people from a distance. Then we would REALLY be in trouble." _

He can read minds.

I jolt upright and jump off of the desk, the panic rearing up. I feel my heart beat faster, the rapid chugs gushing torrents of blood through my veins and arteries furiously, trying to keep up with the frantic inhales and exhales of my lungs. If he CAN read minds, then that means he's seen everything that's gone through my head since the beginning of lunch. This isn't good. No, actually_—_ this is far past bad. I've flown straight into a shit storm of epic proportions with no clear way of getting out.

"Oh shit," I breathe to myself, grasping the roots of my hair. I pace blindly around the room like a caged animal, trying to wrap my head around the concept. It's as I ponder my impossibly bad luck that I realize the room to my left is quiet. Too quiet. The silence is deafening. I can feel him listening in, waiting.

_He's trying to read me, right now,_ I think to myself wildly. _Think of something else. Don't focus on what you don't want him to know._ Reni and Mom? No. I quash all thoughts pertaining to them. I definitely don't want him to know, or know anymore, about _them._

_C'mon_, _think! Lyrics?_ I start reciting fragments of miscellaneous songs from my iPod.

_If this is what you want then fire at will_

_But on the surface he looks calm and ready_

_My insides crawl_

_Forfeit the game before somebody else takes the blame_

_You love the way I look at you_

_For a hill men would kill why, they do not know_

_And I'm'a do the best I can to not become a casualty_

_Enemies got me slippin' by the park in Moscow lark distracted by my cd skippin'_

My head spins. I resist the urge to vomit. Okay, not working. What else?

Food?

Chicken enchiladas, hot and ready, spices exploding on my tongue. Raspberry sweet rolls, gooey and tangy. Jaguar_—_

NO!

A groan escapes my throat in desperation. I shut my eyes tight. The room is too hot. Too small. Even with the darkness it feels as though the walls are closing in. I can't take it anymore. I open my eyes, and just as I suspect, the emerald shards are waiting for me, dancing tantalizingly through the air. Luminescent, like sharp, flat slabs of broken glass, they mingle amidst one another, colliding but never breaking. I reach out and grab one. The area where I hold the shard immediately loses its sharpness and dulls, molding into the shape of my grasp perfectly like a knife's base. I slash it through the air, testing it. The other shards hover closer, waiting for my command.

Is this really happening? Am I really about to do this?

"_Kill them, before they kill you."_ Nahuel's advice doesn't sound nearly as crazy as before. I take a deep breath and grip the shard tightly in my hand as I focus on controlling the rest.

"That's a bad idea," Edward says softly.

I look at the wall.

"I'm sorry about my family's overzealousness," he pauses before continuing, "and mine. But if you do this you'll be exposing us all." I breathe deep again, hating the uncertain shudder that escapes my mouth. The eerie calm of his words sends a chill down my spine. Who the hell talks like that?

_A hundred-something year old vampire who's plotting to kill you._

"We're not going to hurt you."

"Bullshit," I can't help but say. My gaze freezes over the window; I need air. I let go of the shard and zip over to the opposite side of the room, easily lifting the glass pane to arch my head out into the storm. Rain drops splatter against my face, drenching my hair and it has never felt so good. I look down. We're on the top floor. The drop is five stories. If I jump from here, I can run around the building and make for home. I start to lift my foot.

_Wait. What about the windows below?_ I listen and my heart sinks; all the classrooms beneath me are full. People would see me plummeting toward the ground, and that would completely defeat the purpose of "sneaking out." I drop my foot and look up at the sky, cursing Buddha, God, Muhammad, whatever divine entity has decided to place me in this predicament.

"Thanks a lot," I mutter to the clouds dejectedly. I receive a gust of wind in return. I'm about to pull my head back inside when my eye catches something underneath the window: the ledge.

Adrenalin-induced excitement sweeps over me, followed by relief.

I could just step onto the lower ledge and then climb up to the roof using the window sill, like Spider Man. Run down the fire escape and head home. No one would be any wiser. And they wouldn't be able to follow me. Everyone knows who they are; the whispers during the fight were proof enough. If any of them ran, it would draw too much unwanted attention towards them. My mind spins with the possibilities. But just as I step onto the sill, Edward speaks to me again from the other room.

"You won't get far."

I ignore him and pull myself up, grasping the sides of the window. I'm now crouched over the sill gargoyle style, my head and knees the only parts of my body sticking out into the rain. I look up at the grey, swollen sky. Icy, hard pellets of hail pitter-patter off the top of my forehead. I can see the foggy cloud of my breaths in the cold, moist air.

"Wait!" he snaps. I nearly lose my footing at the harshness in his voice.

"Just hear me out, for one second," he says in a steely tone, so different from the smooth calm he exhibited before. His voice is closer, more muffled. His lips must be practically on the wall.

"We're not who you think we are."

My hands grasp the sides of the window, tighter. The wood cracks. The floor and sill is sprinkled with paint chips.

"If you do this, everything my sister has seen will come true. We'll all die_—_"

There's something funny there. What does he mean by his sister? A bolt of lightning flashes through the sky, a muffled boom amidst the shower of hail.

"—including you_._"

His final words make my blood run cold. I can't move. Not forward, at least. Something reeks, and it's not the stale, woodsy air. I step down onto the floor and release the sides of the window. Cautiously, I walk up to the wall. We're literally inches apart. If not for the wooden and plaster barrier, we'd probably be staring at each other eye to eye, and I'd finally be able to see his face.

"What do you mean about your sister?" I ask carefully. He pauses again, clearly hesitant about sharing this piece of information with me.

"Alice can see things, things that haven't happened yet. Normally, her visions come quite detailed, but when it comes to you or your family, she can't see everything. Nothing's clear." He sighs, frustrated, before continuing. "It's very disconcerting, especially for her." _And apparently you as well. _I run my hand through my hair.

"So she can see the future," I state.

"Yes."

I can't help but scoff. There's an obvious hole in his explanation. He's going to have to do better than that.

"If she can't see my future, then how was she able to see our supposed 'deaths?'"

"She can't see your immediate future. But she can still see the aftermath of your actions in the long run. She described it as skipping a scene in a movie_—_" I cut him off with a dark chuckle.

"How convenient. Well isn't this a story for the ages; my would-be murderers are trying to _save _me." I cross my arms._ "_Do you really think I'm that gullible? You're a mind reader, right?" He pauses again.

"I am, but that doesn't mean_—_"

"Stuff it. I already know that story you're about to spin; it's not going to work."

"You don't understand," he growls through clenched teeth. "You're different. I have trouble reading you. Yes, I admit that I have read some of your thoughts," I grunt agitatedly at this, "but not all. I don't know why...Sometimes I just can't keep up. Things cross your mind so quickly that it all blurs and meshes together until all that's left is an incomprehensible mess."

I arch my brow. "So, you're defective?"

A deep rumble of guffaw booms from the room to my right. Edward answers with an annoyed growl. Emmett just laughs harder.

"Emmett," Edward begins, warningly.

"I'm sorry man, but that was just too rich!" he laughs.

"I can't believe this," Edward mutters to himself. "For one second can you not treat a serious situation like a giant joke?" he angrily says to his brother.

"Yeah, like being serious has been real helpful to us lately," Emmett scoffs sarcastically. "We frickin' scare the poor kid into a panic and HE ends up punching out the school bully because of the stress he's in. Do you think this still would've happened if we hadn't jumped to conclusions and started going all terminator-shit on him_—_"

"That's not the point! That imbecile was planning on instigating the fight from the beginning. It didn't matter if he knew what we were planning or not, the outcome was still the same_—_"

"Says you and Alice! But we both know that she isn't infallible. Stuff slips through the cracks, and there was a BIG hole in her vision today. We don't know what went down in between_—_"

I let out an impatient grumble. _You know what, screw it. I'm going with plan A_. I walk away from the wall and back to the window. They're still arguing, both abandoning Edward's mind method in the heat of their exchanges, voices raising octaves with every passing second. The sill is damp with rain, as is the floor surrounding it, but I easily re-affirm my grasp on the window's sides and plant my left foot on the slippery sill.

"STOP!" For the second time today I nearly lose my footing.

"Jesus, you want to broadcast that to the whole city?" I snarl over my shoulder, heart pounding in my chest.

"WHAT PART OF, 'IF YOU'LL LEAVE, YOU'LL DIE', DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?" he shouts. His loss of control strikes a nerve.

"WHAT PART OF, 'I DON'T TRUST ANYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MOUTH', DO _YOU _NOT UNDERSTAND?"I fire back. I look out into the storm, grumbling angrily to myself. I start counting the seconds. If he doesn't have anything to say by the time I reach fifteen, I'm climbing out the damn window.

I'm about to reach fourteen when he speaks.

"Alright," he starts, restraint lacing his tone. "Alright. You can't trust my reassurances_—_fine. But what about reason? Logic? At one point you thought we were the Volturi. We're not, and yes, I know you can't trust my word for it, but consider this; do you think you will remain hidden from them for long if you pull through with this little plan of yours?"

"Is that your way of telling me that you'll rat me out?" I ask him. He laughs, but it's not an expression of amusement.

"I wouldn't need to. If you know about the Volturi, then you must know how much they value secrecy. They're always watching, looking for the smallest sign of abnormality in the human world, and with how things have been going on the past couple of years…" he trails off. My grip has tightened around the sill at his words.

He begins again, "Normally you'd be right. If you were to skip out now, it wouldn't be so much as a blip on the Volturi's radar. But times have changed. The leaders have become quite paranoid_._ My family doesn't even feed on human blood and some of the guard has already paid us a visit."

"Why?" I ask, turning my gaze back to the left wall. Instead, Emmett is the one to answer.

"The past two years have seen some serious vamp activity going down in Europe." I turn my head to the right wall. "Normally it's just because of a newborn army getting out of control, and the Volturi tracks down the maker and cleans up the mess."

"But not this time," I state.

"No," Edward finally says. "This is something else all together. In every recent instance of interjection led by the Volturi, the end result has been the same: failure."

"Meaning?"

"It's easy to track newborns. They make mistakes and are particularly sloppy when it comes to their meals. Also, the amount of human casualties in the affected cities directly point to an influx in their numbers. But the recent investigations have turned up nothing; by the time the guard arrives, the newborns are long gone. No scents to track, no damaged buildings or forests to indicate anything sinister was inhabiting them, not even ash. It's like they've vanished into thin air. Demetri, the Volturi's best tracker, hasn't even been able to get so much as a whiff of them," he finishes. I let go of the window, turn around, and lean against it, ignoring the rain hitting my back, not sure what to feel. Emmett takes the opportunity to continue where Edward left off.

"Aro is seriously freaked out, and he's getting desperate. That's why in June he started sending the guard out to locate all the covens, so everyone could be accounted for. He said it was for our protection, but that's a load of horse shit. The truth was he wanted to know which covens were particularly gifted, so he could either recruit the gifted members, or gain a lead on what the hell is going on." I'm silent, lost in thought. Spoken phrases from the past fade in and out of my consciousness, sounding ominous and eerily fitting.

_There's no such thing as coincidence._

"You know something." A statement, not a question. I don't miss the suspicion in Edward's tone. I walk back to the middle of the room.

"Tony—"

"I don't know jack, alright?" I snap. "Just leave me alone." I push myself off of the sill and mindlessly walk back and forth across the room, as if the rhythmic sound of my shoes scrunching against the tiled floors can somehow chase away the plague of dread and worry that has descended upon me.

Nahuel was wrong. Or at least, he's going to be. It's only a matter of time before the Volturi finds out about the others, and when that happens…

My body shivers.

We have to get out of here. There's just no way around it. If not because of the Cullens, then because of the Volturi. If Edward is telling the truth, then it's too risky for us to be hiding amongst the humans any longer. And Miri? Does she know? Is this why I've been getting that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I read her letters? I close my eyes tight, trying to put a lid on the surge of fear I feel for her. I'll have to ask her about this. If she's unaware, then she has a right to know the risk. The risk, oh man. I rub my tired eyes. Things were so much simpler a year ago…

_"Where should I put this?" I ask Mom. She's in the kitchen, taking out the plates from their boxes and placing them on the small island to be put away in the cupboards. Her eyes look first to me, then down to the box in my hands._

_"Just place it in the living room. Are those the papers?"I nod. At that moment, Reni bursts into the room._

_"Are you done yet?"she asks, jumping up and down impatiently. I place the box on top of the couch, smiling._

_"Yup."_

_ "Finally!" She grabs my hand and drags me down the hallway into her room. Her furniture's already organized in the positions she wants them to be in. _

_"Did you arrange them yourself?" I ask her. She nods vigorously, obviously proud at her accomplishment. She drags me over to the window._

_ She points to the sky-piercing buildings, beacons of light amidst the night time canopy. "Aren't they pretty?" she asks, enchanted. _

"Helllloo? Edward, c'mon man, talk to me. What's wrong?"Emmet's brusque question startles me out of my daydream. The room to my left is dead silent.

"Damn it, Edward, SPEAK UP!"

"What's going on?" I ask Emmett.

"I don't know! We were talking and then he was about to say something when he froze up. I've been trying to get his attention for the last two minutes!" he answers back, annoyed.

I walk to the left wall. Emmett's right; he's as quiet as a mouse. Hell, he's even stopped breathing. I'm about to ask him why he's suddenly gone all comatose when he beats me to the punch. His voice is a barely audible whisper. Like the voice of a man on his death bed, asking the man in the black cloak if he is who he says he is.

"She's your mother?"

I groan. Crap. How the hell could I have been so careless?

"You saw that, then?" I ask lamely, already knowing the answer.

"Yes...It's not possible."

I lean my right shoulder against the wall, arms folded. "You're telling the wrong person."

"But you're a teenager," he reasons, but more with himself than with me. "It's impossible. You're only a couple of years younger than her. She couldn't have…" He pauses again. I can practically hear his mind whirring.

"That child, who was she?" he suddenly asks. A surge of protectiveness rears up in me.

"None of your damn business. Now stay out of my head," I answer, coldly.

I hear him walk away from the wall. He paces, mumbles under his breath. Words like "correct age" and "fertility" catch my attention.

"What are you?" he finally asks. I don't answer.

More minutes pass in solitude. Not even Emmett tries to talk to him again. It's calming, but somewhat eerie. I'd grown used to the constant banter between them. I think back to Mom and Reni, not bothering to hide my thoughts anymore. I'm shit at it anyway, what's the point?

_"Yeah, it's pretty," I agree. We stare out the window for a couple of more minutes, Reni chatting excitedly beside me about how she pushed the large cabinet across from her bed all by herself. All the while, I can't take my eyes off of the stars. Miri said that no matter how far away from each other we were, we'd always be under the same sky._

_Even so, that didn't change the fact that I couldn't tease her about her pictures. Or race her to the market place…Or tell her how much I miss her._

"When was she changed?" Edward's words hide a myriad of raw emotion in every syllable that only serves to confound me.

"What?" I ask.

"Your mother. When. Was. She. Changed?" For the first time, he actually sounds desperate.

_Vulnerable__. _

I back away from the wall, not liking where this is heading. When I'm a good three feet away, I ask carefully, "What's it to you?"

"Kid, just answer the question," Emmett says from behind me. His carefree demeanor from before is gone, replaced with the seriousness he so jovially mocked earlier. This time I'm the one that's silent. Minutes pass before Edward opens his mouth again.

"Tony—"

"Not until you tell me why you want to know," I interject, making my mind up. I force myself to mentally recite the Spanish alphabet. Anxiety builds, setting me on edge.

"I just need to," he answers, softly.

"That's not good enough. What the hell is going—"

The door clicks open. A man's back is to me as he talks to someone else at the other side of the door. Random bits of chatter creep into the room. It must be passing period.

"I gotta go, Jeff. I've kept this one waiting long enough." He turns around. He's on the stocky side, young, with short, slicked-back, light brown hair and a cleft chin that must have given him grief when he was in high school. A manila folder is tucked underneath his armpit.

"Hello, Anthony, I'm Mr. Fallows. Why don't we sit down?" he suggests, shutting the door. He walks past me, beckoning with his hand to follow. From the right corner of the room he drags an undamaged plastic chair to the desk. I do the same. Soon we're sitting across from each other, the desk separating us. He opens the manila folder and spreads out some of the papers. After skimming the first few lines, I look away in disgust; they're the same documents Allen flaunted in front of me before lunch. He starts talking.

"My colleagues, Mr. Johansen and Ms. Louise, have already spoken with Brent, the Cullens, and some of the witnesses." My eyes narrow in response.

"And?'

"And with the exceptions of Emmett, Edward, and Cole, the majority seems to be convinced that you instigated the fight." My fists clench. I already know where he's headed, where his decision and probably the Principal's decision stand. That fucking prick is going to get off scott-free while I get suspended my first day. It shouldn't matter to me. I don't need to be here. I don't belong in their world. It shouldn't bother me.

It shouldn't.

My attention is drawn back to his words as he gestures to the papers on the table.

"I've read this. It's a collection of reports from your previous school. I'm sure you're familiar with the incidents described." His fingers are entwined on top of the desk, eyes carefully scrutinizing me. "It's your first day. I can understand the stress of being in a new school, new area. It can be quite a mind-spinner." He picks up the second paper, stiffening it with a flick of his wrist as he holds it to his face. "I'd imagine today felt like the incident with the lockers…" he trails off, arching his brow suggestively at me. I glare at him.

"That was different."

He blinks. "How so?"

"I planned it." He places the sheet of paper back on the desk.

"Did you?" he asks, with false interest. I tilt my head as I answer him, carefully controlling the tone of my voice.

"You read the file; I picked the locks, smuggled the manure onto school grounds, and for good measure made sure to really bury their pretty little purses and jackets inside the stinking mess."

He nods. "Indeed you did. A bit excessive, don't you think, for simply spreading rumors about you?"

I chuckle darkly. Of course he'd see it that way. "They weren't just rumors. They practically turned the entire school against me because I wouldn't date any of them."

"Now, I'm sure that's just an exaggeration—"

"It isn't," I interrupt bluntly. His nostrils flare. It seems he doesn't like to be interrupted.

"Well, regardless of what I believe, you certainly got your revenge," he says shortly.

I examine him with jaded eyes.

"So that's your reasoning? That because I planned certain incidents to occur in the past, I must have somehow orchestrated today's little performance in the lunch room? I didn't do anything, I wasn't planning on doing anything, and if Brent wasn't such a sadistic, self-entitled meathead then we wouldn't be in here right now. What else you got, Richard?" His face turns a dark puce color.

I'm already suspended. I don't need his confirmation to know. Might as well have some fun while I'm at it.

"That's Mr. Fallows to you, Anthony."

"Sorry," I say, innocently. "You just seemed more like a Dick, to me." The angry click of his teeth clamping down is like music to my ears. He picks up another piece of paper, albeit roughly, crumpling the sheet. I resist the urge to grin.

"You may be right about the locker incident, but Brent doesn't have a record of getting into fights with or without provocation," he says in a scathing tone. My palms tingle. I try to ignore the shards dancing near his head as I answer back.

"The first four fights were started by the other students, in case you forgot—"

"But not the fifth," he interjects, slapping the sheet back on the table. "You attacked Adrian Pierce during passing period, did you not? Afterwards, even you stated that he had never bothered you before."

I feel my face burn with guilt. I look away briefly. He's right. Adrian never bothered me, and I would have left him alone…if Matt hadn't cut his arm in woodshop.

"Are you going to keep asking about the past, or can we get the real interview over with?" I ask brusquely, changing the subject.

"By all means," he says, leaning back in his chair. I lean forward, resting my arms on my thighs.

"We were just minding our own business when that a—" I pause mid-sentence, "when Brent came up to our table and started picking on Cole."

"Go on."

"So Brent keeps on talking trash about Cole and I get up to leave. Then HE starts getting up all in my case, asking me where I'm going. I tell him to get out of my way, he doesn't. Instead, he starts talking about how the underclassmen are expected to treat the upperclassmen with some respect and then I tell him again to get out of my way and he still doesn't move. He mentions something to his friends about teaching me some manners, whatever the hell that means, and then starts pushing me. And you know what he does next? He starts talking shit about my sister."

"Language," he warns. I bite back the cheeky remark on the tip of my tongue and let out an annoyed sigh instead.

"I think you know what happens from there. I punch Brent, all hell breaks loose, the Cullens save the day. And here we all are," I finish, waving my right hand around the room. My fingers brush against one of the shards, sending a surge of electricity through my arm. I fight the urge to grab it and sling it at the jerk-off in front of me.

"I see." He takes a pen out of his front pocket and begins scribbling a note to himself on the manila folder. "I have what I need. Thank you." He gets up from his seat and gathers the papers.

"So that's it?" I ask mildly.

"For now, yes," he answers without looking at me.

"So, can I go?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid. We're still waiting for your sister. I'll have to speak with her about the incident." I feel my shoulders slack. He hurriedly tucks the folder back under his armpit as he walks around the desk. We say nothing else to each other as he exits the room.

"That was very foolish of you."

I look to the left wall incredulously. I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"What?"

"If you hadn't goaded him, he might have been more willing to believe your side of the story," Edward says.

I growl, eyes narrowing at the wall as I prop my feet up on top of the desk. "You heard everything. He already had his mind made up the minute he walked into the room."

"I'm not disputing that," he begins carefully. "But if you had spoken more civilly he would have been more willing to believe you. Instead, you proved his previous assumptions correct."

"Whatever," I scoff. "I'm not going to turn into a sniveling little priss to save my ass. I'd rather go down in flames. With my dignity still intact."

He growls in disapproval.

I look up at the clock: 2:30 P.M. We've been in these rooms for almost two hours. I lounge back in my chair, hands behind my head. I let my mind wander over everything that I've witnessed and seen so far: douche bag bullies, kids stuffed into lockers, a teacher with a vendetta, a traumatized freshmen class, and vampires, all on my first day. Miri's right; I MUST be a trouble magnet. I mean it. Who the hell runs into vampires set on killing them on their first day of school, on top of all the other class bullshit?

"Emmett," Edward says suddenly.

"Yeah?" he answer's dully.

"Think of something, anything."

"I am. Can't you—"

"No, I can't," Edward grits. The room to my right is dead quiet. I lift my feet off of the table and drop my arms. After a couple of moments, Emmett regains his ability to speak and I listen carefully to their increasingly frantic conversation.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"Just like I said, I can't! It's like you're not even in the room," he says, through clenched teeth. He rounds on me. "Tony, are you doing this?" My temper instantly flares at the accusation in his tone.

"No," I answer, annoyed.

"C'mon kid, we're serious—" Emmett begins.

"I'm not doing anything!" I bark angrily. I jump back up and walk to the window. I close my eyes tight, focusing on the icy wind outside and my breathing: in and out, in and out. The cold air enters my wind pipes, cooling my lungs but doing little to soothe my temper.

"Can you still hear the others?"

"I can hear Alice fine, but everyone on the fifth floor is completely silent to me."

"What is he talking about? Everyone's so loud!" a childlike voice remarks. My eyes pop open and I spin around. Reni is standing underneath the doorway, hand still on the knob. She's sopping wet, bronze curls frizzy from the rain. Meanwhile, her pink rain coat and yellow rain boots are dripping a steadily increasing puddle of water onto the already dirty tiled floor. She closes the door behind her.

"Who the hell was that?" Emmett asks after a moment.

"You can hear me?" Reni asks Emmett's wall, astounded.

"Uhh, yeah."

"Huh." She makes to walk over to the wall, but I signal her to stop. She immediately stays put, watching me with bemusement. I walk over to her, grabbing her damp, mitten-covered hand, and drag her to the center of the room, her boots squeaking noisily. I put my finger to my lips before she can ask what's going on. Understanding dawns in her chocolate brown eyes and she nods. She takes off one of her mittens. With her hand exposed I grasp it and feel the threads of our minds connect.

_What's going on? How could that boy hear me? What did the other one mean when he said he couldn't hear anyone? I thought you promised Momma you wouldn't be bad anymore? _she asks.

_The men in the rooms to our right and left are vampires._ Her eyes widen._ The one on our left can read minds. They got involved in the fight I got into today. _Fear now taints her thoughts. She curls closer to me, attaching herself firmly to my leg. I cradle the back of her head in my other hand as I look up at the clock: 2:45 P.M.

_They won't hurt you, _I reassure her, as I watch the minute hand tick loser to 2:46 P.M. _They'd have to get through me first. Just do exactly as I say, okay?_ I feel her nod against me. _Once the bell rings, we're going to find Mom. Do you know where she went?_

_Yes,_ she answers. _She said to keep you company while she talked to your teacher._ I shuffle back near the door, Reni still attached to my leg. I can already hear her. She's around the corner in another room, talking to Fallows. I wait for a pause in their conversation. When I have it, I take my chance.

"Mom, can you hear me?"

About a minute passes before she responds with an almost inaudible "Yes."

"There are vampires here—" I begin.

"I know," she hisses. More talking going on. When will this guy shut up? Another pause.

"What do we do?" I ask her.

"Just stay in the room until I tell you it's okay to come out."

"But—"

"No arguments!" she hisses.

I hit my head against the surface of the door with a hollow thud. _What'd she say?_ Reni asks_. _

_To stay here until she says so. _I answer her, bleakly.

_That's good right? We're safer in here. Are there only two vampires? Why are they here? Are they with the bad people?_

_There are seven of them. Five are going to this school. I'm guessing the other two are posing as their parents. And I don't know why they're here._

_What do they look like?_

I think back to the lunchroom.

_Oh. Okay. But what about the last one?_ She thinks up Edward. Well, his back, anyway. _What does he look like?_

_I don't really know. I never got a good look at his face. _

She absorbs all of this surprisingly well. I turn around and lean my back against the door, Reni's hand still clasped in mine. After a while, she starts to get impatient, wanting me to let go so she can explore the room. I relent. Beyond the door, the dismissal bell rings shrilly. I let out a dejected sigh. Mom and Fallows are still talking.

"They'll all be suspended the rest of the week. He's actually quite lucky. Any other school wouldn't be this lenient," Fallows says.

"I find that hard to believe. By the sound of it, those student's friends are covering up for him. Why haven't you taken the… Cullens or this Cole boy's words into account?"

"You have to understand, the majority of the witness claim—"

"The majority of the witnesses are this Brent boy's friends," Mom interjects angrily. "I had a chat with Cole Maxwell before I stepped into this office. It seems you make it a habit of selecting who to believe before you interrogate your perpetrators."

"Be careful, Ms. Swan. You may be Anthony's guardian, but you're also a future student of this school," he says pompously.

"I just want my brother fairly judged. Is that too much to ask?"

"I understand that, but the school policy is the school policy. It doesn't really matter who started the fight; the fact is, they fought, and must be punished accordingly."Another moment passes before Mom lets out a sigh of exasperation.

"Edward, Emmett?" Alice Cullen asks. From the sound of her voice, she's at the mouth of the staircase.

"Alice," they both say in unison.

I hear her slight footsteps approach our doors. "Carlisle and Esme have just finished with Mr. Johansen and Ms. Louise. Rosalie and Jasper are waiting for Bella." Goose bumps erupt on the surface of my flesh. I didn't tell anyone her name.

"Can you see her?" Edward asks.

"No. I can't see any of them," Alice answers, somewhat irritably. "I'm going to wait with Jazz and Rosalie," she adds, walking away.

"We'll come with you," Edward says. With a click, the doors to the rooms flanking mine open and Emmett and Edward exit. Their fading footsteps sound ominous in the empty hallway.

He did say she was psychic. My mind reminds me. Still, though. Mom's name didn't sound right coming from her. She said it…like they were friends. I rest my forehead on the surface of the door, straining my ears. I can hear them all, congregating around the corner, joined by two others.

"Are you sure it's her?" a new, male voice asks. He must be Carlisle.

"I'm positive," Edward answers.

"Good. We need to get to the bottom of this," the blond bitch—Rosalie says.

"All this time…" a new feminine voice, Esme, trails off, wistfully.

"I know," Edward says quietly. A door clicks open.

"We expect him to be back in school next week," Fallows says.

"Of course." I hear him and Mom walking into the vampire-filled hallway. The Cullens have gone silent.

"Ah! Dr. Cullen! How nice to see you again," he greets.

"Mr. Fallows."

They chat for about five minutes, the suck-up oblivious to the growing tension clearly radiating from the Doc's silent children and their equally silent fellow vampire. Finally, he says his goodbyes, walking back down our hallway. His brisk footsteps echo against the locker-adorned wall before descending the stairwell. My heart won't stop pounding. I'm aware of the other changes in my body—the adrenaline being pumped through my veins, increased senses, the excess venom in my mouth. Only one reason for this: something's about to happen.

And with that in mind, I turn the knob and open the door.

"Reni," I call. Immediately the small space is filled with the squelching of her boots as she runs over to me. I grab her ungloved hand and step into the hallway.

_I thought Momma said we were supposed to stay in the room until she called us? _Reni asks worriedly.

_Change of plan. __Something's about to happen and I don't want to be in there when it goes down._ We start walking. The broken window across from us hasn't been properly fixed. A thin sheet of plastic and strips of duct tape, now blown askew thanks to the wind, lies at its foot. I follow the sound of their voices.

"Bella—"

"I have to go." Her words are flighty, weak.

"We need to talk about this—" We turn the corner and stop. Mom's a few feet away, her back to us. The Cullens are crowded around her in a crescent-shaped circle. I can already make out Emmett and Alice and the two others—Carlisle and Esme. Before Mom can turn around, we're already at her side. I get a glimpse of her face—eyes wide with trepidation—before settling on the person in front of her.

Seventeen. Maybe eighteen. Standard uniform. Chalk white skin, lean but muscular build, golden eyes. Typical vegetarian vampire. And yet, he isn't. He's not typical. I look down at Reni, then back at him.

Same bronze hair.

Same jaw.

Lips.

Cheeks.

Nose.

A violent lurch hits my gut, reaching all the way down to my toes, and I forget why I'm here. My gaze is frozen on the man before me, no longer faceless.

Him.

My ears are deaf to the conversations going on around us. Everything that happened today comes rushing back to me all at once in a blur of mismatched memories and random bits of dialogue. Yet somehow I'm able to link it all together: his reaction to my memory of Mom and Reni, the pieces of conversation from the cafeteria, and most of all, Mom's request for us to stay in the room.

Him.

The tiny grip on my hand tightens painfully.

I'm scared. Reni keeps saying, her fear increasing with my silence. Tony?

I usher her behind me and let go of her hand, ignoring her silent protests. His eyes flit down to Reni, with something akin to shock and concern.

Concern. He feels concern for her.

I almost flinch from the sudden burst of hatred licking at my insides, screaming to be released in one ferocious roar. The rush of feeling, of emotion, knocks me out of my shock, allowing full realization of who he is sprout in the bowels of my mind. Black thoughts spew from the malevolent seed, tangles of roots that grow and fill my head, blossoming poisonous fruit that feeds my inner savage, the thing I hid from Flan. It assumes the role of narrator.

_What the hell does he have to be concerned about? __He left us to die. Where has he been the last five years?_ it snarls.

My blood instantly comes to a boil, burning away any possible sympathy I could have for him.

_Living it up with his coven, trailing for his newest project to seduce and screw, probably. And where have we been? Running, hiding, trying to find the answer to what we are… _

I clench my fists. I feel the muscles of my face tighten and mold into a mask of rage.

_Answers to what you can do…_

The shards re-appear, this time in the thousands, hovering in the space between him and his family.

_…what Reni can see…_

I feel the hot, slick, shard of crystallized energy materialize in my left palm. I grasp it like a lifeline.

_And what about Mom? _

I peek at her from the corner of my eye—She's arguing with the blond bitch, something about… an immortal child?

_ He hurt her._

Their voices bleed into white noise.

_Broke her into a million fucking pieces._

My eyes find him again. He hasn't moved an inch, his indefatigable eyes still trained stonily on Reni behind me.

_…__ abandoned her, abandoned us… _

My throats on fire, while my teeth ache to bite into something _hard. _

_…when he wasn't satisfied with his game anymore._

I grind them together, painfully. My eyes shut tight then re-open.

_ Never looked back__—_

Nothing but red.

—_after using her like a COMMON WHORE. _

As though sensing my gaze, his eyes flicker back up to mine.

I snap.

With an enraged roar, I charge at him at full speed, while another part of my brain assembles the hovering shards together seamlessly, like a giant jigsaw puzzle, forming a green, luminescent wall that pushes his family back, sealing them in the hall. Screams and shouts as my body collides with his and I knock him to the floor with a crash, the sound of tile cracking against marble. With one knee on his chest, I pin him down while the other traps his right arm. My right hand pins his left while my left hand puts the glassy, makeshift knife to his jugular.

The distressed hisses and shouts in front of me mean nothing. I block it out with ease. And him? He just stares back at me, stoically calm as ever and I hate it. I want him to struggle, protest, ANYTHING other than just lie there! Feral snarls rip and tear their way out of my throat. It takes several seconds before I can spit out a coherent sentence but I do it.

"All this time," I grit, our noses inches from each other. Impassive gold eyes meet my enraged green. Countless memories flash before my eyes, a collage of my life. Our lives. Without him.

"All this fucking time, I've been talking to _you_." I enunciate the last word accusatorially, with as much loathing as I can muster.

"And you knew. Didn't you?" I breathe, as I remember his questions before the interview with Fallows. My left hand shakes so hard with adrenalin and hatred it hurts. I press the shard deeper into his neck to steady my wrist. A trickle of venom dribbles down the side.

"I did," he croaks quietly, his adam's apple bobbing against the blade. I let out another snarl, teeth bared. I feel his left wrist break in my grasp.

"Tony," Mom pleads. My head snaps up. She's kneeling in front of me, from the other side of the barrier. I must have accidentally pushed her further into the hall when I charged at him.

"Let him go." I blink bemusedly at her, not sure of what I'm hearing.

"W-what?"

"Let him go," she says again, her tone urgent. Her request infuriates me even more.

"No way," I say, shaking my head as I look at her. "No fucking way."

She puts both her palms flat on the glass-like screen she cannot see. Horror dominates her face.

"Do you remember the promise you made to me when we first arrived?" Her question catches me off guard. I loosen my grip on the shard ever so slightly.

"That… I'd keep my slate clean this time," I say, after briefly wracking my brain. She nods, but her reminder only serves to add to the melting pot of emotion overflowing inside of me. That promise was broken the minute I punched Brent.

"I've already tainted it," I tell her. "It's too late."

"No it isn't!" she says desperately. "But it will be in the next twenty seconds if you don't release him and put your shield down! Use your ears!" My eyes narrow in confusion. I do as she tells me and immediately hear what she's talking about; several Narcs are coming over to investigate the ruckus.

"This isn't the time for this," she whispers. The footsteps are getting closer. I look down at him. He's still staring at me, that infuriating calm still gracing his perfect face. Inside I'm torn, my desire to rip him to shreds conflicting violently with the need to keep the secret and protect my family.

"TONY!"

I let out one last growl before getting up and disassembling the wall. The minute Mom's hands push through air, she gets up and zips over to our side, pushing me back as she stands defensively in front of us. A tentative tug on my right hand reminds me of Reni's presence and I feel a twinge of guilt.

The father is helping him up, trying to examine the cut I made on his throat and then his broken wrist, but he brushes him away, shaking his head. Meanwhile, the rest of the family crowds around him. It takes every bit of limited restraint I have to not zip back over and finish the job. I'm well aware of the scarred one eying me warily, searching for anymore indication of volatility. I throw him a dark smile from behind Mom. He stiffens and lets out a short hiss, recognizing my challenge.

Give me a reason. That's all I ask.

"Everything alright?" the first Narc asks carefully when he arrives. He's wearing a white baseball cap. His scent drifts to our side, and I'm surprised by the intensity of the burn in my throat. The subtle thump of the artery on his liver-spotted neck catches my eye.

"Everything's fine," Carlisle responds, leaving Edward to walk up to him. "We were just having a rather… animated discussion."

"Animated, huh? Looked a lot more than animated from over there."

"I can assure you that there is no problem."

"I need you to take your sister and go," Mom whispers. I snap out of my trance and look incredulously at the back of her head. She turns to face us. Instantly our eyes lock, gold boring into green.

"I'll explain everything later. Your stuff's in the band room." She places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, the other under Reni's chin.

"Go," she says, looking down to Reni, then back up to me. "Now."

I look behind her. As Carlisle continues to offer his reassurance, the others have shifted in front of the large crack in the floor, blocking it from view from the human. They stare at me unabashedly, with a mixture of paranoia and awe. Except for him. He's staring at Mom.

I feel another snarl building in my chest, but I clamp down on it. With clenched teeth and disappear around the corner with Reni and head for the stairwell. Throughout I try to keep a lid on the intense emotions flooding my mind, while at the same time try to sift through Reni's thoughts.

Half-formed questions keep bubbling up in her head while scenes from the last fifteen minutes keep replaying over and over. I let go of her hand, disconnecting the connection between our minds. We keep walking in silence, soon reaching the stairwell. I start to descend.

"Why did you hurt him?"

My foot freezes on the fifth step. I turn my head. Reni's still on the first step, confusion, curiosity, and fear playing on her face. The answer to that question is so simple, and yet, so infuriatingly complicated. I neither have the time, nor patience to carefully list the reasons why I did what I did.

I walk back up to her. Her face, expectant, falls when I instead grab her gloved hand and drag her with me down the stairs. Resigned, she doesn't say anything more.

But as we enter the second stairwell, I let the contempt and loathing that has accumulated over the past three years escape my mouth, in the form of four icy words:

"Because he deserved it."

* * *

Okay. So they've finally come face to face (pun intended). Some of you might be confused as to what's going on with Bella's ability. Now don't get me wrong, she's still a mental shield, the thing though is that she doesn't know how to control it.

If you consider things logically then it should make sense. In the original series Bella had Edward, Carlisle, Eleazar and the rest of the Cullen's to help her figure out the workings of her shield. Obviously here, in my universe, that wasn't the case. And how would she even know if she had an ability after she was changed? There's no tangible way for her to actually "see" her shield, and unless she's testing it against another vampire with a mental gift, she would never even know her shield existed (Needless to say, she hasn't met any other vampires with gifts similar to Edward's(with the exception of Reni)). So, as a result, her self-knowledge about her ability is borderline non-existant, as is her control over it.

Anymore questions? Leave me a review and I'll answer as much as I can. :)


	8. The life it seems

My apologies for the long wait. I thank you all for your patience. Enjoy :)

Beta'd by Arizona Hale and Pre-read by Kitty

* * *

The life it seems:

_March, 2008...two years ago  
_

T

"What's wrong? You're miles away."

Cool blades of grass curl under my bare feet, prickling the flesh and pushing up between my toes. The sun shines cheerfully above us, casting our skin, light and dark, in a faint glow. Miri's unusually quiet. She walks beside me, head down, mindlessly chewing her bottom lip as we make our way across the open stretch of grass, through the trees and to the small river we found last month.

"I just have a lot on my mind," she says, as she stares at the ground and twiddles her fingers, jet black hair covering her face like a curtain. She makes it to the edge and sits down, dipping her bare feet into the clear, glassy pool. I join her, sitting stretched out on the grass on my back.

"About what Nahuel told you?" I tuck my hands under my head.

"Yeah," she says faintly.

I watch the clouds, my flawless eyesight catching the puffy collections of water morphing into new shapes with each passing second. From the corner of my eye, I note the eerie stillness Miri's form has taken, like a statue, and my concern increases.

"Do you want to join them?" I ask her, quietly. Her head twitches in response, before turning fully to me, eyes scrunched up in befuddlement. I sit up and scoot closer until we're side by side, my feet now in the water, forearms propping my body up.

She fixes her gaze on the glassy surface of the river. Slowly her face changes, anger replacing the vacant expression she's been wearing all afternoon.

"No. I don't want to join _him," _she answers coldly to her reflection. "I'd rather eat a poisonous frog than even speak to _him. _And as for Serena and Maysun, as long as they're on _his _side, we have nothing to say to each other."

She plucks a flower from behind her and begins pulling off the white petals, one by one, letting them drop into the river. Each petal, little scraps of white, float carelessly away, following the flow of the current.

"Are you bothered by it?" she asks suddenly, turning to me, eyes wide. "I'll understand if you don't want to hang out anymore—"

"Are you out of your mind?" I exclaim. I look into her hazel eyes with the utmost seriousness.

"You're my best friend. What Nahuel said doesn't change that." I feel my face heat with embarrassment and I turn away, so she can't see my blush.

"You're nothing like Joham, anyway. Or Serena. Do you think if you were we would even be friends?" I add.

"I'm still half him, though," she murmurs to herself.

"And half your mother," I remind her. "But that doesn't even matter anyway. It's not who we come from that determines who we are, or who we will be."

A small smile creeps onto her face, lighting up her eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, _Dumbledore."_

I feel my lips turn up in a smirk. "Doesn't make it any less true."

She chuckles and lies down in the grass, hands resting on her stomach. Her jet black hair is now rumpled, fanned out on the ground, but she doesn't seem to care. I turn back to the river. I kick a splash of water at a bee that's been hovering closer.

"Would you ever join him? Your father, I mean?" she asks me.

My heart twists. I grasp the blades of grass and chunks of dirt underneath my hands and look at my submerged feet.

"No. I wouldn't."

"He's not Joham, though."

"Just because he doesn't do what Joham does doesn't make him father of year." Minutes pass in tense silence, regret already forming in the back of my mind for my callous slip.

"Never said it did," Miri finally answers coldly, from behind. I cringe and hear her sit up. "But he didn't know you or Reni would happen."

I feel my face scrunch up in disgust. I turn to her. She's sitting cross-legged, watching me carefully. I take my feet out of the water and turn my body so I'm facing her, legs stretched out in front of me. She stares at me unabashedly, shamelessly, eyes sympathetic, but calculating. Reclining with one arm propping me up, I pick up a pebble with my other and roll it around between my thumb and index finger, locking my eyes on a lady bug trailing up my left knee.

"She met him when she first moved back in with my Grandpa. That was in January, 2005. After nine months, he got what he wanted and left, just like that." I grind the piece of rock between my thumb and index finger into dust and flick what remains into the water.

"He shouldn't have been with her at all. He should have just left her alone." The familiar lump of guilt builds in the bottom of my throat. I try to swallow, but the action only causes me more pain. I taste the venom as it goes down, bland yet sweet. Another reminder of what I am, what I'm not…

And what I've done.

"If he did that, you and Reni wouldn't be here," Miri says gently.

"Maybe that's how it was supposed to be."

She shakes her head. "Don't say things like that."

"Why? It's true. By the laws of genetics we're not even supposed to exist. Yet here we are. Everything's a mess. If we weren't around, my mom would still be human. She would have grown up and been able to get over him and gone on with her life and she would still be with her family, she wouldn't have had to—"

"And maybe the world would have ended from a zombie apocalypse. Or maybe she would have gone backpacking around Europe and joined an all-girl rock band. Heck, _maybe_ she would have become a best-selling young adult romance novelist with a fetish for heartbreak and Vampires…" she says sardonically. I throw her a hard look.

"I'm not joking."

"Neither am I."

She picks up a rock by her feet and stands up. "What-if's and fantasies and wishes that will never be. That's all brooding will give you," she mumbles irritably as she walks a few feet away. She shifts her body, so only one side is facing the river, and aims the rock in her hand at its surface.

I turn myself so I'm facing the river again. I unwind my legs and dip my feet back in the cool, rushing water.

"I can't forgive him."

"Never said you had to." She flings the rock at the river. We watch it skip two, three, four times before it finally disappears beneath the surface. "Just accept that what's done is done, and focus on the now." She crouches down and examines her reflection in the pool, before sticking her arm down it and plucking out another smooth stone. "At least you still have a mom."

I wince at her words, scooting closer to her.

"I'm sorry. You're right, I'm being stupid."

The tension grows between us, like a wall. I recognize the faint green sheen beginning to manifest in my vision, and I start to panic a little. All the while, her words and mine repeat over and over in my head, cutting deeper and deeper until I can't bear to keep my eyes open anymore.

_No! C'mon, hold it together! You can't lose control again, especially not around HER._

I take a deep breath, emptying my head of all thoughts.

"Hellooo? Earth to Tony? Are you still there?" My eyes pop open, Miri's face greeting me, no longer sad.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I was saying, 'Yeah, you are,'" she explains. I still don't know what she's talking about, and she seems to realize this, so she adds, "Stupid. I was agreeing that you were indeed stupid." I exhale in relief, and let out a laugh.

"I am sorry, though."

"I know."

"…Has Nahuel found anything new about her? What she was like?" I ask after a while.

"Not much," she admits. "Pretty much the same thing actually; she wanted to be an actress, she wasn't much younger than your mom and all that…I can see the appeal, though."

At my confused face, she clarifies, "How _He _must have looked to her. Insanely beautiful, mysterious, alluring…"

She shakes her head angrily as she bites her lip, then scoffs, "She probably thought it was a fairytale come to life; her prince charming whisking her away to a foreign country, where she could live happily ever after." I watch her sadly as she sits back down and hugs her knees to her chest.

"She talked a lot, when I was still…you know, inside. Couldn't understand what the heck she was saying, though. " She rests her chin on top of her knees. "What about you? Has your mom told you anything about him?"

I grab a flat stone to my right and in turn fling it at the river, watching the ripples erupt from the skips.

"No. She rarely mentions him."

"Rarely?"

I stare at the second slab of stone that I have in my palm as I answer.

"…She loved him, but he lied about loving her back." I crush the flat slab into gravel and dust. I throw what remains into the river, watching the little flecks of dust blend and disappear into the water.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

"Don't worry about it."

Another long pause. There are no animals on our side of the river. They've already fled long before our arrival, sensing our predatory presence. Silence drones on.

Another tidbit of my life aches to escape my throat, a secret that not even Mom knows, but this time I feel no need to smother it. I look at Miri from the corner of my eye, busy examining an oddly shaped stone she has just pulled out of the river.

"She never said it, but I think he was a musician," I say softly. She looks up at me curiously.

"Seriously? What makes you think that?"

"…It was a week or two before I met you. Remember? When we were still living above that bar? Anyway, there was this band that played nights on Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays. The piano player was a guy named Fabian. He'd always come by in the afternoons before any of his band mates. One day he was practicing his routine, and I heard the tune. He noticed me listening, so he invited me over on the bench and taught me a couple of notes… In less than an hour, he was teaching me one of the band's songs."

"So then what happened?" she asks. I feel the corners of my smirk start to fall as the rest of the memory falls back into place.

"Mom walked in. She was so shocked, but she tried to hide it. I almost fell for it too. She gave me a hug and all that, praised how well I was doing, thanked Fabian for being so nice to me, then sent me upstairs to wash up for dinner. I forgot my bouncy ball, so I went back down, and then I saw her…"

I try not to think about it, even as I describe Mom's delayed reaction to my… skill. A phantom chill runs down my spine.

"So how does that link to your father?" she asks.

"She only gets like that when I ask about _him_."

"Oh."

We let the silence roll for a couple more minutes, but this time it's welcome. She gets it. Just like how I get that not being able to understand what her mom was saying to her bothers her more than she lets on.

"That's why you don't play anymore, isn't it?"

I shrug.

"I played for you," I say, throwing her a pointed look. She smirks.

"Yeah, like one time. And how long ago was that? Months? A year?"

"It was just a passing phase," I dismiss, with a wave of my hand.

"Mmhm."

We watch the river in silence, the sun's reflection glinting off the surface of the water. My eyes spot the various fish swimming underneath, how they seem to swish through the water oh so easily. My stomach grumbles.

She turns back to the river. "What will you do if you ever meet him?"

"Kick his teeth in, probably," I say nonchalantly, as I spy a particularly big catch a couple of feet from us. I move to crouch before the edge of the bank, balancing myself on the top of my feet. "And then chop him to pieces. You?"

She picks up another rock and twirls it around her fingers. Then, without warning, she flings it as hard as she can at a tree on the other side of the river. The force of impact shatters the rock into dust, but not before causing the branches to tremble as a result, forcing the birds inside to flee.

"Castrate him."

"Fitting," I say faintly, as I prepare to spring into the water.

* * *

_Present day_

The sound of the flowing water soothes my raging headache. I cradle an overflowing puddle in my palm before splashing it against my face, driblets sliding down my neck and soaking the front of my shirt and tie. I take deep breaths, grasping the sides of the sink, bowing my head. Once the nausea subsides, I stand upright, wiping my face with my sleeve. Moving away from the sink to head for the back office where Mr. Cliffton and Reni are, I maneuver around the many rows of haphazardly organized music stands and chairs left asunder in the wake of the dismissal bell.

I freeze under the door post of the office. Reni's sitting in the computer chair behind the desk, spinning herself around, eyes closed in amusement, while Clifford rummages in the back storage closet directly behind her. I walk around the desk and place a hand on the leather upholstery, making the chair come to a stop. Reni opens her lids and looks around confusedly, before settling on me. I give her a stern look. She shrugs.

"What? _He_ said I could," she squeaks, an innocent look on her face.

I roll my eyes as Clifford walks out of the closet, my bag, stuffed with several of my books, and my raincoat in hand.

"Thanks," I say, as he hands them to me.

"No problem."

I quickly slip on my raincoat then sling my bag across my shoulder. As I do so, Reni hops off of the leather chair and runs over to the entrance of the office, tiny hands grasping the doorpost as she watches me shift my bag.

"You alright, kid?"

I look up. Cliffton's eying me with worry as he leans against the back wall, arms crossed.

"Yeah. I'm fine," I say curtly.

"My sink would beg to differ," he says wryly.

I shrug. "It's been a long day." Before he can say anymore, I exit the room, taking Reni's gloved hand and dragging her towards the band room's main door.

"Should I expect you back here tomorrow or Monday?" I stop just outside the exit. From the sound of metal scraping against tile, he has begun straightening out the chairs and folding down the music stands to be put away in the small niche in the back corner of the room. Before I can ask how he knows, he continues, "Everybody, and I _mean_ EVERYBODY_, _knows about what happened at lunch today."

My shoulders slump. Of course.

I mull over his question. Can he expect me back Monday? With the epic mess that's happening right now, probably not.

But he doesn't need to know that, does he?

"Monday."

He pauses with his clean-up, the tell-tale scrape of chair legs no longer screeching against the floor. I hear him inhale a lung full of air, the kind preceding a question, but at the last minute he exhales and the click of his jaw shutting follows instead. When the scrapes resume, we waste no more time and exit.

"Come on, Momma said we had to go!" Reni urges, once we're out of the room, practically dragging me down the hallway.

At her words, I remember again why we're leaving in the first place and I strain my ears, trying to locate the sounds of their voices above me. It's easier since most of the staff and students are gone for the day. Mom's wounded tone instantly sets me on edge.

"Why are you even here?" She sounds so small, so vulnerable. "Isn't it a bit early for you all to going through this cycle of yours again?"

"Times have changed. The Volturi's keeping watch on all of the Covens. Maintaining a sense of normalcy placates them, convinces them that we're not a threat," Carlisle answers gravely as we step off the last step of the stairs.

_The routine we're known for._

So it's true then. They have done this in the past—play human—and by the sound of it, they've been doing it for a while. So much so that it's practically _routine_ for them now.

And Mom? Was she _his _routine? I try to swallow the bitter taste of bile accumulating in the back of my throat.

Maybe Miri and I _do_ have more in common than I thought…

Disgusted, I shut my ears to the conversation going on above us. We pass by the main office, its door closed. A few more strides and I'm pushing the front doors of the school open and walking down the steps with Reni. The storm has ended for now, the once nearly black clouds now a neutral grey. It's quiet, the front of the school deserted save for a small group loitering by their car parked on the far right side of the street. The sound of our shoes squelching against the wet cement echoes ominously throughout the yard. Several heads from the lone group turn up in response to the noise. They look at us unabashedly, but I ignore them. We cross the street.

* * *

B

He doesn't look the same.

My eyes search Edward's face hungrily—the contours of his jaw, his lips, eyes, his hair, and I fight the urge to walk up to him and put a hand on his cheek, to see if his skin still feels like marble.

Vampires don't change. He was right. From the moment we're bitten, everything about us freezes— our likes, dislikes, appearances. From the length of our eye lashes to the size of our feet.

But he doesn't look the same.

Our eyes lock. Luminescent gold no longer bores into chocolate brown. We're equals now. Which means no more excuses based on my humanity. No more reverent looks that leave me dazzled and breathless. The days of him throwing a charming smile and ending with me melting at his feet are long gone. And yet, I feel as though I'm about to shatter into a million pieces.

The conviction I remember is still there. The self loathing, clearer now to me than before. But all of that is overridden by the undercurrent of emotions currently swimming beneath his flawless face; disbelief, heartbreak, desolation, desire, sorrow, despair, regret, hope, fear, _love._

And I'm left to wonder why.

_Why_ he could possibly feel this way when he so coolly and carefully told me in the forest that I was no good for him.

_Why_ he looks as though he's about to fall apart when he reassured me that it would be as if he never existed.

_Why is this happening? What does any of this mean?_

_Why do I care?_

"Bella_._"

Memories of happier days, framed in the familiar muddled haze that marks the humanity I once had crosses my mind, a picture show of who I thought he was, who I used to be.

_A fairy tale. Nothing more, nothing less_.

And with that in mind, my heart twists, the fissures crack deeper, and a little more of the naïve person I was disintegrates into nothing.

Tears. What I wouldn't give for tears right now.

"Why are you even here?" I find myself asking. The look he gives me, the _sorrow_, I can't stand it, can't take it. I tear my eyes away from him and instead look to Carlisle. "Isn't it a bit early for you all to be going through this cycle of yours again?" Despite his youthful appearance, Carlisle looks weary. Exhausted.

"…Times have changed," he finally answers. "The Volturi's keeping watch on all of the Covens. Maintaining a sense of normalcy placates them, convinces them that we're not a threat." His words turn my insides into ice, while my mind spins and shoots in ten different directions.

"What are you talking about?"

His expression changes to one of confusion.

"She doesn't know, Carlisle." I look at Edward again. He's still watching me, with an intensity that would melt an iceberg. It takes everything in me not to scream in frustration. "None of them do." He pauses, then adds, "The boy's thoughts were proof enough."

"I thought you couldn't hear him?" Rosalie asks, eyes narrowed. She refuses to acknowledge me, accusatory glare aimed at Edward.

Without looking at her, he replies, "Sometimes. It seems only when he's under great stress or panic can I not. Any other time, however, with the exception of right now—"

"What do you mean right now?" Carlisle interjects carefully.

Edward clenches his teeth, letting out an impatient exhale through his nose. His eyes fall to the floor, frustrated.

"I can't hear him right now, or the child. At all." His eyes float back to me, something akin to wonder now swimming in his eyes.

"They're like you."

With a shake of my head, I turn back to Carlisle.

"Can you explain now?" I ask him. He nods and exhales through his nose, tossing a look at one of the doors to his right before beginning.

"Evidence of someone creating newborn army's began surfacing in 2008. It started in Ireland. The Guard was dispatched, but they didn't find anything, even after interviewing the Irish Coven for information a couple of weeks later, but luckily they weren't in the country at the time, so they couldn't be implicated. In the end, it was assumed that the newborns ripped each other and their creator apart and that was that.

"But then a pattern began to surface; soon, it was happening in Russia, then Poland. Entire villages were being wiped out, cities were being plagued with mass murders, and again the Guard was sent to investigate, but not one newborn was found. The affected areas should have reeked of vampire, and Demetri, the Guard's tracker, should have locked onto the perpetrators the minute that they set foot there, but he didn't. When they arrived, the streets smelled clean, and Demetri couldn't sense anyone guilty to track. Not to mention the affected areas were lacking the blatant property destruction so common with newborns."

He pauses, so I can soak everything in. My mind is in a stupor, I can't even begin to imagine the luck we had. If we had run into anyone, any other vampires, the Volturi would have found out about us, Nahuel, everything. Guilt threatens to overwhelm me, putting a bitter taste in my mouth. All this time, the supernatural world was in turmoil and we didn't know because of my choice to keep us in hiding.

"Has it only been in Russia and Poland?" I finally ask, breaking the silence. I'm almost afraid of the answer.

Carlisle shakes his head. "No. That was just where it was starting." My shoulders stiffen, regret and worry sending phantom nausea to the pit of my stomach. "So far, Italy's the only country in Europe that's been left untouched."

"So that's it? A country gets ravaged for a bit, and then whatever's causing it moves on?" I ask.

"It would seem so, yes."

"And the Volturi know nothing."

"Yes."

_It's worse than Nahuel thought,_ I think bleakly to myself. _God, what is Joham doing? He's going to get his entire family killed. And Nahuel, Miri, and Huilen…_

"Enough with the history lesson, Carlisle. We have a situation here, in case you forgot," Rosalie snaps, shooting me with another contemptuous glare. She takes a step forward, but in response, Edward steps to my end of the hallway and stands in front of me. I push him slightly to the left as I step next to him. I can take care of myself.

Suddenly, Edward hisses. He makes a step towards Rosalie but Emmett immediately goes to her rescue and places himself in front of her. From behind him, Rosalie bares her teeth at Edward and lets out a furious snarl, eyes on fire.

"No."

Edward's face is murderous, the muscles on his forearms protruding prominently as his balled fists clench tighter. I look around to the others.

Carlisle's eyes flit from me to Edward, pity clearly illustrated on his face as Esme stares at me unblinkingly, conflicted and heartbroken. Emmett's defensive… but resigned. Alice is at loss on what to do, eyes retreating into blankness every couple of seconds, no doubt to search the future, while Rosalie continues her stare down with Edward from behind Emmett, fury practically oozing from every pore.

Jasper, on the other hand…

He's off to the side, arms crossed, staring out one of the windows, eyes far away. Cold resignation is etched in his face, relaxing his muscles, smoothing the lines, draining all emotion from his eyes, until he looks almost bored.

Impassive.

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"You don't understand—"

"What's there to understand?" she begins, moving past Emmett to face Edward head on. Emmett makes to move in front of her again but she throws him a look that clearly conveys her desire for confrontation. He hangs back, watching them both carefully.

"You know the consequences if they find out about this. Even if things weren't how they were right now, our next step would still be the same—"

A jolt of fear shoots down my spine at her words. Carlisle looks to me with pity, and that in itself is all the confirmation I need. I try to shut out everything going on around me: the arguments, the tense stances, the fact that we're having this confrontation in a not-quite-empty school building, the overflowing emotions that threaten to spill out of me like molten lava from a volcano.

But try as I may, vampirism no longer offers that luxury. For as I try to block it all out, my ever wake mind records everything they say, everything I see, everything I feel, no matter how much I don't want it to. Perfectly. There is no catatonia to escape into. No drug that can put me to sleep. All there is, is my eternally conscious mind and my broken heart.

And my growing anger.

"—if you would have let me explain from the beginning, we wouldn't be in this dilemma!"

"Explain? Do you even know what's coming out of your mouth, what you're claiming?"

"Yes."

She glares at Edward, scathingly scrutinizing him from underneath her piercing gaze. Minutes pass before she abruptly turns to Carlisle and asks, "Is it possible?"

"Is the fact that she's a spitting of image of Edward not enough for you?"

She finally looks at me, disdain in her eyes, which I meet coldly, my mind finally settling on a tone to operate by: anger.

Anger at her, for assuming the worst and rallying the others to her self-righteous cause, anger at their reluctance to listen in the first place, but most of all, anger at them for believing her so resolutely and without explanation.

"You saw her eyes," I say coldly to her. "They're neither gold nor red. They're _brown, _like mine were,and if you weren't so intent on finding a reason to antagonize me, you would have seen it, and would have noticed her temperature. She's not cold at all. Neither is Tony."

The anger keeps burning, rolling off of me in waves, but again I try to contain it.

"Do you all really think that little of me?" I ask them, their abrupt silence gnawing at my bones and making me want to scream. I clench my fists. "That I would create an immortal child? Do something that stupid? That awful?"

"Bella, please, that's not how it is at all," Esme pleads, walking up to me. I back away, ignoring the hurt in her eyes. The defeated, vulnerable person that' s been a part of me for the past five years, that side of me, in this moment, has been vanquished, cast out of my mind in the wake of my raw fury. I feel my lips purse, my teeth clench, mirroring my fists.

Five years of running and hiding and worrying day in and day out about my children's future, of drowning in crippling heartbreak and dejection and personal inadequacy, and they have the nerve, the audacity, to assume the very worst of me. That I would stoop so low.

Is it because they think I'm lonely? That the stupid, dependent teen they so vehemently believe is my character is so desperate to have companionship that she would subject an innocent child to such a horrendous faith? That I am _that_ ignorant of their world's rules? _My_ world's rules?

_Who do they all think I am?_

But just as sudden and fierce the fire in my being ignites, it is extinguished, alien calm replacing it with crushing effectiveness. I sway. Edward catches me, easily propping me back up on my feet, his arms secured under my armpits. I shake my head. My eyes meet Jasper's.

"Don't do that," I say quietly to him. "Don't treat me like a child, silencing me whenever you see fit." I pull away from Edward's grasp, swaying, but on my own two feet. I meet Jasper's gaze, my eyes boring into his.

"You owe me this much Jasper."

My last words affect him, a hint of guilt seeping into his calm façade. Slowly the numbing calm creeps away, and I feel like myself again. Still though, the temporary numbness has quelled the fire that just moments ago was raging inside of me. And in its place, exhaustion has moved in.

I'm finished. Done.

I'm tired of this; the explanations, the patience, trying to sway a different party to my side, trying to play diplomat. For the first time, I don't care if I'm leaving an argument unresolved; I want to walk away. Just take Reni and Tony and go. Nahuel and Joham's war has gotten out of hand, and the rest of them, the _Cullens_, they can debate amongst themselves all they want. I don't care anymore.

And Edward…

I don't know what to make of him. The familiar ache in my chest persists, but I ignore it. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except Reni and Tony. Cold determination resurfaces, returns to the forefront of my mind.

_We have to get out of here._

I make to leave but he grabs my arm and stops me. I refuse to look at him, focusing my gaze on the window at the end of the hallway.

"Let me go," I say quietly.

"I can't," he whispers. "I know she's mine." His words turn my insides to ice.

"I saw her…in Tony's thoughts, his memories…but…he…" he struggles with what he wants to say, like a schoolboy trying to explain himself to his teacher. It would be endearing if he wasn't trying to come up with an explanation for his son's existence.

"I don't know how he plays into all of this…" he finally settles. My face twists in pain, but I still I don't turn around.

_Of course he wouldn't link that possibility together. For crow's sake, he looks like a fifteen year old._

I let out a dark chuckle that sounds more like a sob. Out of everything, out of all the mysteries tossed around in this very small world, he ends up not completing the most important. I shake my head at the incredible mess this has become, putting a hand to my mouth.

"Bella, please, talk to me." I let my hand drop off my face and fall to my side.

"Let me go," I grit.

"Not until you tell me everything." I try to tug my arm out of his grip but he's too strong.

"Bella, _please_."

That desperation. Vulnerability. I finally turn around to fully face him.

He looks about ready to get on his knees and literally beg. The emotions that look so foreign on his face make him look so defeated. For the second time today, I'm left to wonder why after everything I still care. Why he cares.

"There's nothing to tell," I answer tiredly. "You all left. Reni, Tony, and I survived. That's all you need to know."

His face crumbles at my words, like he himself is burning in the hell he so fervently believed was his soul's final resting place. His anguish only serves to confuse and frustrate me even more. Indecision grows, infecting me with reluctance to leave while cold determination tries to fight off it off.

It's as though I'm balancing on a tight rope, where the other side rests my choice to leave without explanation, and at the bottom rests my choice to stay and explain. I'm stuck in the middle, alone, terrified of falling, trying to focus on the other side, the _ultimate_ escape.

But as I keep my toes in line and my feet grow tired, I find I cannot continue, no matter how much I want to. The past five years pass through my mind, all at once in that moment. Days of worry, dejection, fear and heartbreak.

And joy.

And love.

And no matter what he's done or hasn't done, no matter how great a lie he has inflicted upon me concerning the nature of our relationship, whether he loved me or not, I can't just walk away and deny him this. I will not toy with the truth and hold it in, like a _game._

I cringe at the word, the way my son had so bluntly stripped raw what happened between me and his father.

I toss one last look at his family, to the ones I once thought of as _my _family, and again I wonder just who exactly they thought _I _was, what they perceived me to be. A nuisance? A new distraction? A doll? A pet? A star-stricken bimbo entranced by Vampirism's glamour? The last seems most accurate. It's obvious though, how they see me now:

Pathetic.

Stupid.

A _child_ in their grown-up world. A teenager eternally frozen in her immaturity and selfish desires of instant, self-gratification.

My heart twists again, from their betrayal, then and now, their _rejection._ They truly don't know me. But if I leave now, that will be all the confirmation they will need.

That cannot happen.

I am not some immature adolescent relishing in petty schemes of manipulation and revenge, treating the details of my children's lives as nothing more than trivial fodder, something meant to dangle over their father's head at my leisure, like a piece of meat for a ravenous lion.

I am not that girl. I will not prove them right. I will not prove _him _right.

I take one look at the bottom, and with a calm exhale, let myself fall.

"They're both the same age, Edward."

Our eyes lock once more. Confusion mars his face.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. They're the same age. Precisely the same age…Tony just _grew_ faster."

I let the implications sink in. His eyes start out blank, then slowly widen in realization and shock. The grip he has on my arm slackens, until his falls uselessly back to his side forgotten. His mouth opens, but no words come out. If I were still human, bitter tears would be trailing down my cheeks.

"Twins," he whispers to himself, eyes seeing nothing. But then they flit back up to me in wonder. "How?"

"You're the one with over a dozen medical degrees. You tell me."

* * *

R

Tony's mad.

He keeps making his angry face, dragging me along without a word, passing by buildings taller than even he can jump and shops and restaurants Momma promised to bring us to once we were more settled.

I don't like it.

The hold he has on my arm makes it feel tingly, like how my legs feel when I sit criss-cross for too long. He looks like he's going to punch somebody…

We get to the crosswalk and stop. When I look at him again, he's grinding his teeth, watching the streetlight, waiting for it to turn into the picture for walking. He taps his foot, keeps pressing on the button on the pole. The hold he has on my hand tightens, and it hurts.

"Tony, let go!" I yell, trying to pull my hand out of his grip. My words surprise him and take away his angry face. He looks worried, more like my Tony. He loosens his hand and I pull my hand back, rubbing the ouchie away. Instead of joining the crowd and crossing, he gently guides us around the corner to a bench.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs as he sits me on. "Did I hurt you?"

"A little," I admit. "But it's okay now."

I take his hand, to show him what I mean. I replay the memory of the past couple of minutes.

"See?" I say, staring up at him. "All better."

He grunts in response, looking to his right, running his hand through his hair. He sits next to me, and lets out a sigh, burying his face in his hands.

"Aren't we going?" I ask, head tilting to the side as I look at him.

"Not yet." My shoulders slump. He finally brings his face out of his hands and sits up. He sighs, and lets his head fall back, eyes closed. We don't talk for a while. I start to kick my legs, to give me something to do.

"So what are we waiting for?" I ask, after what feels like forever.

"I just need time to think, alright?" he says, eyes still closed.

"But we can do that at home."

"I don't want to go home."

"Momma wanted us to go home."

"Momma _isn't_ here."

People pass us on the sidewalk, dressed in thick coats and carrying umbrellas, their noses in their cell phones and iPods. I lean back in the metal bench and I stare at the grey, puffy sky. I nibble on my lip, even though Momma told me not to, wondering about everything: the scary lady, the blond-haired man and his family, but most of all, the man talking to Momma. The man with the coppery hair.

The man who looks like me.

I sneak a glance at Tony. His arms are folded now, body now slumping against the back of the bench. But his face, eyes closed, scrunched up like he's having a bad dream, is still facing the sky. I sigh, my patience starting to get away from me. Across the road, some boys wearing the same uniform as Tony walk by, laughing at something one of them said.

"How long are we going to be here?" I ask him, but he doesn't hear me. I keep calling his name, getting annoyed as more time passes. People walking by start to stare at us oddly. Finally, I pound his leg as hard as I can with my fist, like I'm banging on a door. That finally gets his attention.

"What?" he finally asks sharply, eyes popping open.

"What's going on? Why is everyone acting so weird?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Why not?"

"Just don't, okay?"

"Who were those people at school? Why did you get into another fight? Why was that lady so mean to Momma? Why did you attack that man? Why does he look like me? Why—"

"Be quiet!" he snaps, making me swallow my words. I feel myself shrink, the familiar sting of tears building up in my eyes. I look down to the ground, the grainy pavement blurring as hot, salty drops begin to fall.

"Oh, Reni, don't cry," he pleads from my right. He slips out if his seat and kneels in front of me, so that now we're at eye level, but still I turn away, sniffling.

He cradles my face in his hands.

_I'm sorry._

I rub my eyes and finally look at him. The corners of his eyes are scrunched up, like he's in pain. His lips are set in a hard line.

_I'm still trying to absorb everything that's happened. But still, I shouldn't take it out on you. _he silently tells me.

"What's happening?" I ask him aloud.

"…Grown-up stuff," he says, after a while.

"What do you mean?"

He sighs, rubbing one side of his head with his fingers. The shadows under his eyes are darker. Slowly he gets up and sits to my right again. He stares at nothing for the longest time.

"It's complicated," he finally says.

I shrug. "I wanna know." I scoot closer to him. He still seems uncertain, still looking to the ground.

"A 12th grader and his friends decided to mess with me at lunch," he finally tells me. "They weren't being nice."

I lean in closer, interested. "Did you beat them up?"

"Not as much as I would have liked," he admits. He looks down at the space on the bench between us. His pointer finger starts to scrap away at the seat, until he has a small pile of grey meal shavings.

"Why did you do that? You promised Momma…"

"It's not always that simple," he replies.

"But didn't Flan say—"

"Flan never knew what we were, so most of the stuff he told me doesn't apply."

He throws his arms over the back of the bench. "I would have beaten them all up if _Edward_ hadn't gotten in the way."

"Edward?"

"The vamp you're a dead-ringer for."

"Dead-ringer?'

"The vamp that _looks_ like you."

"Oh." I feel my eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. "But isn't that a good thing?" He looks at me like I'm stupid.

"What?" I ask, squirming under his gaze.

"How is _that _a good thing?"

"Well," I begin hesitantly, "remember the last time you got in a fight?"

"Yeah? So?"

"Momma said you could have killed him," I say quietly. His eyes widen for not even a second before understanding takes over and makes his face angry again.

"This wasn't like that. I wouldn't have killed them." He stops, eyes scrunching up angrily at a jogger who runs past us too close. He rears back, letting his head drop so it's facing the sky. "If anything, it's their fault I got into the fight in the first place," he mutters to himself.

"What do you mean?"

"I lost control because I was—" he stops mid sentence, biting back the words, pursing his lips. He looks away again, angry. "Never mind, it's nothing."

"But—"

"Ask anything else," he interrupts. The way he says it, I know I shouldn't ask about it again. I think hard, trying to remember one of the questions I tried asking him earlier. Then it hits me.

"Why does that man look like me?"

He stops breathing and freezes. I wait for him to snap out of it. A breeze whips by us, messing up my hair. I breathe in the cold air. I like the feeling of it cooling the inside of my throat and chest. And not only that, I smell the smoke from around us, gasoline from the cars, stray dogs and…

Blood.

My tummy grumbles. I'm thirsty. I squirm in my seat, the cool air not really helping anymore. The more I think about it, the more my throat burns no matter how cold it is outside. The scents of the people walking by us, some smell not so good, but others...

Still, it's not good to think like that, even if we're the sharks and they're the fish. Besides, fish are friends, not food, just like in the Nemo movie.

Right?

_But we're not REALLY sharks. So for us, wouldn't it be 'humans are friends, not food?' _

I sigh. I'll have to ask Tony about it, maybe later, when he's not so serious or angry-looking any more.

It's been such a weird day. First Tony gets into a fight, and then gets into ANOTHER one with that copper-haired man AND he's a vampire. And then there was the copper-haired man's family, the mean blond lady, the scary man with the scars…

Momma said the bad people wouldn't find us, but Momma doesn't lie.

So how was she wrong?

I shiver. It's getting colder. I curl closer to Tony, bringing my feet up. His arm wraps around me, and I rest my head on his chest. His heartbeat soothes me.

"Reni, what has Momma told you about our father?" His voice isn't mean anymore. I blink up at him, puzzled. He stares down at me, still serious.

"Nothing. Well…" I trail, trying to remember something she told me a long time ago.

"Yeah?"

"…Oh wait, that was about Grandpa Charlie…"

"What did she say about him?"

"That I got my curls from him," I tell him. He looks down at me, confused, so I take his hand and focus on the memory.

"_Momma, how come my hair is different than yours and Tony's?" I ask her, while she ties my shoes. She looks at me funny, surprised…and something else. She gives me a small smile._

" _It's not so different," she says, brushing a strand away from my face. I look curiously at her. "…Me and Tony's hair turns almost the same color in the sunlight…"_

"_But how come mine's curly but yours isn't?" I ask._

"…_You got your Grandpa Charlie's hair, it seems," she tells me._

"_Really?"_

"_Yes," she chuckles, kissing my nose. I giggle and hug her, and she squeezes me back._

"When did that happen?" he asks me, stunned.

"When you and Miri were out with Nahuel," I say simply.

"Oh. Anything else?"

"No," I say, avoiding his eyes. Uneasy silence stretches on. After a while, he tilts my chin up so he can look me straight in the eye.

"You're lying," he states. My eyes fall guiltily. I shift my legs so they won't fall asleep. "Tell me," he urges.

"It's nothing."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

"…You'll get mad."

His expression softens. "Why would I get mad_?"_

I bite my lip again, everything in me screaming not to open my mouth. Momma said to keep that conversation a secret, that it might upset Tony if he saw it.

"How about this, why don't I ask you what it's about, and if I get it right, you can nod yes, and if I get it wrong, you can nod no," he suggests.

I look back up to him. "Like twenty questions?"

"Yeah."

I slump against the metal seat, the twisted feeling in my stomach becoming undone.

"Okay."

"Alright, I know it's about our father," he begins. He runs his hand through his hair again, eyes scrunched up as he thinks up a question. "Is it a sad memory?"

I nod yes.

"Was it a talk between you and Momma, like when she was telling you about your curls?"

Again I nod yes.

"…Was it about why _he_ wasn't around?"

I pause, mid-nod, goose bumps prickling over my skin. I check that my hands are nowhere near his; they aren't.

"I'll take that as a yes." I look down at my kicking feet, not liking where this is heading.

"Did Momma tell you not to show me?" he asks softly. I look at him from the corner of my eye. He stares back, calm.

"…Yeah," I say after a while. "She said it would make you angry and sad again." He frowns, looking away. I watch his face change, from confused to annoyed to angry then back to calm. He looks at me again.

"She told you not to _show_ me what you guys talked about, right?"

"Right."

"Well," he starts, "_Telling_ isn't _showing._ If you tell me with your words, then you're not breaking any promises, are you?"

* * *

This chapter originally was supposed to go in a much different direction than how it goes now. The wolves will make their appearance in time. Actually, you could they say that they already have in this chapter.


	9. Cannibal Glow

RECAP:

Last chapter had some confrontation between Bella and the Cullen's. Everyone except Edward thought she had created an immortal child and she was understandably crushed by their assumption. She almost left, but Edward would have none of that. Finally, she decided that in the end she had to tell them everything. This all happens in the school hallway where Tony attacked Edward in Ch. 7.

Meanwhile, with Tony POV, there was a flashback of when he was hanging out with Miri. In present the day he is still understandably fuming and desperate for answers.

Reni has no idea what the hell is going on. She goes along with Tony's odd behaviour, waiting for him as they sit on a sidewalk bench to pull himself out of whatever rut he's in, and is mildy surprised when he starts asking her if she knows anything about their father. It is revealed at the end of the chapter that she knows something big.

Beta'd and Pre-read by Arizona Hale and Kitty

My apologies for the long wait. If any of you frequent A Different Forest, then you might have caught a campfire yours truly started a couple of weeks ago, bringing to light some recent developments in RL.

Anyway, It's all T-POV...

* * *

I close my eyes before the shards can make it into my vision. It's too much— the anger, the confusion, but most of all, the_ betrayal. _They all bind together, hopelessly and irrevocably linked; a triangle alliance that serves only to feed the darkest part of myself. It's the ultimate blow. A sucker punch. The kind that drains your lungs of any air and makes you so fucking sick you dry heave even though you have nothing to up-chuck.

_I thought everything was fine, but things changed. A couple of days after my birthday, he told me he was leaving. He couldn't stay with me, it would have just been a lie if he did, for both of us, and he knew that…..I should have known, should have seen it coming from the beginning…_

So much happened, it almost feels like an eternity ago, but it wasn't. Not an eternity. Just five years. Five whirlwind years packed with uncertainty and fear, every single little detail perfectly stamped into my memory forever, so I can never forget.

No matter how much I want to.

I open my eyes and tilt my head up to the bland, dark grey sky. The familiar shards greet me, shimmering brightly, but I ignore them, forcing myself to look down at the ground instead. My fingers twitch. I grab onto the bench seat again.

Why? And how? _How _could she even consider doing that? The urge to pulverize rock and stone makes my nails burn. I just want to _break_ something, anything, _fuck _the consequences.

"Can we go now?" Reni whines to me. "It's getting too dark." Silently, I get up and take her hand, smoothly pulling her off the bench. I walk us back to the light post, ignoring her silent questions. We blend into the crowd of humans as we cross the street, the burn in my throat another reminder that I need to hunt, and of course, another reminder of what I _can't _do right now.

I can't take it anymore. I just want it all to stop, to not feel anything: the burn in my throat, the pulsing rage threatening to implode inside of me, but most of all, the doubt, the tiny drop of poison that has already tainted everything I've come to know and believe and trust.

But since when was it about what I want?

I swallow hard as I watch the humans walking by us; business men and women in their dark trench coats, Soccer moms walking their rat-sized dogs, teenagers complaining about their parents and the misery of their suburban lives. Just being near them makes the fire in my throat turn into an all-out inferno. The usual response is there, the familiar voice that talks down the urge to give in to raw, primal instinct, but today it just doesn't seem to cut it. I can smell the blood. Almost taste it on my tongue, feel it gushing down my throat.

_Just let go, _the beast whispers silkily. I'm not even surprised anymore by how quickly it re-affirms its presence. I don't fight it, despite what it's ultimately saying. The burn increases. I grind my teeth, and yet, only the beast's words seem to take my mind off of it—along with everything else. Not much. But enough to make me want more—silence, peace of mind, numbness.

Oblivion.

_Your hunting instincts will cancel it all out…the memories, the emotions. Everything. And not only that; the burn will be gone. You remember the taste. Animal blood may sustain you, but it just doesn't have that edge, does it?_

No, it doesn't. I lick my lips unconsciously. I swallow again, and can almost _feel _the beast running its claws down the walls of my throat.

_This is crazy and you know it,_ the voice of reason says. _These are living, breathing people with lives of their own. And what about the Volturi? You remember what HE said; they're always watching. They'll know._

_So what? _The beast challenges spitefully. He grips my trachea. My heart starts to race. I silently try to suck in more air through my mouth before realizing too late my mistake. Their scents settle on my tongue, _teasing me, _tickling the back of my throat and making my teeth ache with the urge to sink into soft, smooth _flesh._ My eyes lock onto the pulse–points on our companion's necks. They all throb in almost perfect synchronization. _Everything's already gone to hell anyway. Might as well indulge while you still can, feel some semblance of peace before it all falls apart, if it hasn't already…_

We make it to the other side of the street, Reni ignorant to the bloodbath about to happen. My knees shake from the strain of keeping them from springing.

_Do you really want her to see this? _the voice asks suddenly. My eyes briefly flicker down to her crown of curly bronze hair._ Expose her to what we really are?_

Her presence puts a damper on my newly-risen bloodlust. The shadow of guilt begins to engulf me, but the beast won't go down without a fight.

And God help me, a part of me is glad.

_She has to learn some time anyway. Pretending we're human doesn't make us human. Look what happened because of Mom's secrets. Her own daughter has no fucking clue what's just happened, who she's come face to face with, _the beast argues frantically.

I begin to pin-point particularly appetizing scents; peaches and fresh cream, baked bread, milk chocolate….the humans, they pass us, their buried survival instincts urging them to give us a wider berth, pumping their veins full of adrenalin, making their hearts race with sudden fear they can't explain. It's not long before we're alone again, their fear finally forcing them to take detours they wouldn't normally take.

_You can simply drop her off at home and then go out for a quick bite. She won't leave the apartment. Surely you can wait for just a little bit longer, _the beast continues roughly.

_You would throw everything away and resign yourself to hell, just for a couple minutes of peace? _the other voice asks. The beast snarls, outraged by the challenge, the _logic_.

Suddenly Reni's hand slips out of my grasp and I turn, slightly annoyed, another apology on my lips for holding her too hard, but it never comes out.

She stands rigid, like a statue, several feet behind me. Frozen. I can still see hints of her pale, albeit flushed skin behind the partially closed curtain of hair, but it's not her skin I'm drawn to, it's her eyes, the whites of her eyes. The absence of her chocolate brown irises as her eyeballs roll into back of her head.

"No!" I shout, zipping in front of her, all thoughts of insane blood lust and resignation forgotten. I spot the wooden arms of the cross and the arrangement of damp roses inside the alleyway behind her and instantly I understand.

"_Fuck._" I kneel before her, steadying her as the convulsions begin to buckle her knees.

She takes no notice as I scoop her into my arms. Her head lolls against my shoulder as I clutch the back of her neck. I try to navigate back home, shielding her convulsing form from oncoming passerby even as the memory soaked in that damn alleyway flits through her mind and mine like a movie reel.

_It's dark. No stars shine tonight, the storm clouds too thick to let any light reach the sun-deprived city. _

_The sound of footsteps fills the air. A boy is walking by. He's husky, with small eyes and not much chin, short brown hair. Wearing a bulky parka, he trudges onward, swinging a plastic bag with each step he takes._

"No," I whisper to her. "C'mon Reni, snap out of it!"

_He stumbles and falls to the floor, the contents of his bag spilling in front of him; shampoo, milk, and a chocolate bar. The white ear buds nestled in his ears blare its confusing song, a mix of steady drums and rhythmic screams. _

We make it to our building. I bolt to the elevator once we cross the threshold, my eyes locking with the bemused deskman's briefly as the doors slide shut. She's still seizing, but not as violently as before. Boring elevator music fills the air, a sick contrast to violent rock song in the memory. I'm half of the mind to rip the speakers out of its box. Reni's leg twitches against my stomach, her breathing becoming fast and shallow.

_He gathers his things. In the process, he finds the root of his fall: shoelaces. Untied and tangled at the ends. He grumbles something to himself as he tries to get everything undone so he can tie the strings properly. He hears only his music. _

_The screeching of tires pierces the air. A red car full to the brim with people, young people, lurches dangerously close to his sidewalk. The interior of the car reeks of the bitter, fermented scent of booze while the quiet calm of the street is tainted by the crazy laughter, shouts, and music booming from its open windows…and still, the boy hears nothing._

I sink to my knees, helpless, cradling her in my arms as the memory forcing its way into her mind causes her tiny body to jerk wildly. Her teeth clatter together, eyelids half-closed, but I keep skin contact, hoping maybe, just maybe, I'm not too late and she'll channel the memory completely into me.

_One second is all the time it takes for the car to jump the curb, another for him to rise and turn, only to be greeted by his impending doom._

_The sound of the force of impact, the ensuing crunch as his body slams against the concrete is lost amidst the screeching halt of the tires. No one exits the vehicle. A minute passes before the driver puts the car back in reverse, egged on in his drunken and pot-induced haze by his equally inebriated companions. _

_An eerie silence falls upon the street. Blood pools around his shattered skull and crushed chest, the crimson puddle expanding into a shapeless blob, its edges settling into the set cracks of the sidewalk before draining into the gutter. While his right ear bud has been reduced to nothing more than cracked plastic, his left lays miraculously operational on the cement beside him, continuing to blare its macabre song, unaware that its owner is no longer able to hear it. _

_It's not long before someone discovers him— a man in his late thirties in a navy blue jogging suit. Alarmed at the sight before him, he quickly crouches down to check for his pulse, but his hand falters as he notices the glassy, unresponsive state of his eyes. Still, he fishes his cell phone out of his pocket and calls an ambulance._

_In the flurry of activity surrounding the crime scene, a paramedic unknowingly crushes the left ear bud into pieces with his boot as he covers the body. It begins to drizzle._

The elevator stops, and the doors open. I get up from the floor and sprint down the hallway at vampire speed, trusting that no one is spying through their peepholes. We make it to our apartment. Not bothering with my key, I break the locks with a sharp twist of the knob and shove against the door. We slip inside. She's not shaking anymore. She breathes in slow, deep breaths, her entire body limp with exhaustion.

* * *

Later.

I'm in the living room, sitting at the tiny kitchen table with the window cracked open, twirling the paper cylinder between my index and middle fingers, letting the grey ashes settle on top of the worn, oak surface.

Reni's asleep. Tucked in. Hopefully dreaming of ponies and rainbows and other disgustingly girly crap. Another sting of guilt hits me. My hand shakes as I take another drag, the tip of the Marlboro the only source of light in the nearly pitch black room. I'm not cold, even though my pale blue t-shirt and baggy jeans can hardly protect me from the chilly wind from outside. But I don't need protection. After all, I'm not human.

At least, not completely.

I feel the smoke lick the walls of my lungs in a vain attempt to damage the already perfect cells as I let my mind wander back to the bench.

"_She wanted to know where I learned it from, so I told her it was you, but she didn't like that. She said she learned jump rope from playing with her daddy and asked why I didn't learn it from mine."_

"_She said it wasn't right, Reni continues. "That everyone's supposed to have a Mommy and Daddy, and that daddies are supposed to teach stuff like that to us. And she told me lots of other stuff daddies are supposed to teach too, but you taught me all those things, so I said she was wrong. Then she said that my trick didn't count since I didn't learn it from the right place and that we didn't have a proper family."_

"_That's horse—" I clench my teeth, biting back the words. "None of that's true," I tell her vehemently._

_She shrugs, eyes still glued to the strand of hair she's wrapping methodically around her pinky finger._

"_What happened next?"_

"_I asked Momma if it was true," she says quietly._

_Something in me twists at her words, and it only gets worse as she continues on, oblivious._

"_She said not to feel…" her head tilts and her eyes squint as she tries to remember, "…ashamed that our family was different than anyone else's, and that what was normal for Alyssa wasn't normal for us. Is that true?"_

_I can't answer. My mouth won't work. All I can do is stare at her expectant little face like a moron as I try to kick my brain back into working. _

"…_Yeah. That's true," I finally say. Disappointment weighs heavy on my shoulders. I rub my eyes, reclining back into the seat. It's nothing. I should've known it would be something like this. Something…simple. Logical. Trivial. _

_But if it is, then why do I still feel anything? _

"_That's good. I knew Momma wasn't lying. I guess the other stuff is true too…"_

"_What other stuff?" I ask mildly, nose wrinkling at the exhaust fumes billowing out of a rust-colored Honda Accord that zooms past us. _

"_That we'd go find Daddy once the bad people weren't looking for us anymore."_

As if on cue, the front door swings open.

She walks in, quiet as a mouse, not even bothering to point out the broken lock. After hanging her jacket on the coat rack nearby, she looks at me. I can see her fine, despite the darkness, but there's no emotion on her face. No anger to twist her features into a furious scowl. No sadness to drag down her lips into a frown.

Expressionless.

It's unnerving. Not even when she was having her episodes did she look this…detached.

She shuts the door and leans against it, watching me smoke my cigarette. This scene has played out between us over a dozen times, but never because of something as bad as what happened today. A breeze enters the room from the open window, pricking the hairs on the back of my neck. I look away. Minutes pass, long enough for her scent to settle in the moderately-sized room. It takes a few seconds for me to realize that it's not just her scent I smell:

She smells like _him._

My nose wrinkles in disdain. I grind my teeth, feeling her gaze.

"…Long talk?" I finally ask, taking another drag from the cigarette.

"It was," she says evenly. She walks around the sofa and comes to a stop at the kitchen table, but doesn't sit down.

A sleepy, incoherent mumble drifts from Reni's room, and the guilt is all that is needed to crumble my façade and remind me of my failure. The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

"She had a vision when we were walking home."

Instantly, her calm disposition leaves her, alarm and consternation replacing it.

"What?"

I wince at the sharpness of her tone, but before I can answer she's gone and in Reni's room. I follow, placing the cigarette in my mouth.

I hover just outside her doorway, watching as Mom sits on the edge of Reni's bed and smoothes away the hair from Reni's face. Reni's eyes blink open at her caress, the haze of sleep keeping her from throwing herself into Mom's arms.

"Momma?" Reni asks sleepily.

"I'm right here," Mom murmurs.

She sighs. "…'Kay. Where's Otto?"

"Who's Otto?"

"The boy with the grocery bag."

My heart turns to ice and drops into the pit of my stomach. I step to the side and slump against the wall next to her door.

"What do you remember?" Mom asks, a hint of panic in her tone.

"We were walking, then we sat down, then we walked again. And then Otto walked by with his bag and then I fell asleep again," she mumbles.

"Is that all?"

"Uh huh."

"Okay. Don't worry about it, sweetie."

"'Kay," she yawns.

I hear her kiss Reni on the forehead. When she exits the room, she closes the door, careful to make sure she doesn't make a sound. She backs into the wall behind her. I can practically hear her mind whirring.

I turn my attention to the open space between us, concentrating until I can see the shards again. I start to assemble the individual pieces together, like before, in the school hallway, except this time I smooth out the edges and re-shape the pieces so the resulting shield is smaller, but taller. _Rectangular. _The exact shape and size of Reni's door. I slot the newly constructed barrier into her door frame, over the wood. Almost immediately, the sounds of her heart beat and slow, even breathing ceases.

The absence of sound from Reni's room shakes Mom out of whatever mind trip she's in, and I draw her attention. She looks at me, then back to the door, her confusion melting as she realizes what I've done. She steps up to me, grasping my free hand.

"Are you okay?" she asks quietly.

_Blood pools around his shattered skull and crushed chest, the crimson puddle expanding into a shapeless blob, its edges settling into the set indents of the sidewalk before draining into the gutter._

"I'm fine," I say, brushing her off. I walk back into the living room, to my seat. She doesn't immediately follow me. As I sit down, I take another drag. When she finally re-appears and walks over to the table, she has that familiar calculating look. This conversation isn't going to end well. I can feel it in my bones.

"What happened?"

My eyes flicker down to my lap. "I wasn't paying attention. There was a hit and run a little over a week ago…about a block from here. They put roses in the alleyway where the kid died."

"…How much did you both see?"

I try to cast out the images again, as I answer.

"…I think she was able to give me most of it. I asked her earlier. She only remembers the beginning, before the car hit him. And his name."

I hear the slight rustle of her hair as she nods, and the sound of her shoes clacking against the floor as she walks around the table. She pulls out the chair beside me and sits down. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her rotate in her seat so she's completely facing me. She rests her left arm on the table, fingers itching for contact. I move my left hand to my lap in response.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. She takes in a deep breath, and I feel her gaze on me again, unwavering and growing increasingly unbearable as the seconds tick by. Suddenly she reaches over and tilts my chin up so I can look at her. Desperation greets me, backed up by determination and authority.

"What happened at lunch today?"

My eyes widen a fraction. She lets go of my chin and sits back, waiting for my answer. I stare at her coolly, expecting more, but it never comes. I examine the cigarette between my middle and index finger with faux disinterest.

"…Fallows already told you, didn't he?"

"I want to hear it from you."

I snort, pushing my chair back roughly as I place the cigarette between my lips. I get up and walk to the window, tucking my hands in my pockets. It's pitch black outside, and going to rain soon. I can already smell the dampness in the air.

I take the cigarette out and exhale a cloud of smoke with a sigh, nose inches away from the glass pane. The writhing cloud of smoke flattens as it collides with the glass barrier, then re-morphs.

"I panicked."

As I say it, Brent's sneering face returns to the forefront of my mind and my lips curl in unrestrained loathing.

"Cole and his friends were bitching about whatever crap was happening with them when I got a whiff of _their_ scents."

I bring the cigarette back up, but see that there's not much left, just a tiny smoking bud. I crush the still-burning tip between my index and thumb fingers and flick it out the open window, watching it disappear into the alley below.

"They were going to kill me. Or at least, they were planning it. I heard what the scarred one said. Apparently it was to _protect them all_." I can't help but sneer. The scarred one. _Jasper_, they called him. A new burst of hatred blisters inside of me as I continue to think about his words, _their_ words, before the fight.

"I_ had_ to get the hell out of there after hearing that, and I would have too if that asshole hadn't started talking shit."

"You mean Clark."

"Yeah…that prick."

She lets out a sigh. "Do I _want_ to hear what he said?"

I feel my face twist even more in anger and revulsion.

"_No." _There is no way in _hell _she's going to hear that from me.

"What happened next?"

I smirk, in spite of the result of my…impulsiveness.

"…I punched him in the chest, and then his cronies swarmed in…And before you ask, _no_, I didn't lay a hand on the others. Besides, what's his face—Emmett— got a hold of me from behind. I was too busy trying to fight him off to notice anything else. Next thing I knew, the Narcs were walking us all to the fifth floor."

"I already knew that. What did the three of you talk about while you were in your rooms?"

I undo the latches and shut the window with more force than necessary, before turning around. She's sitting as still as a statue, her eyes drawn to a crack in the table. For some reason, her lack of eye-contact annoys me. I lean back against the adjacent wall as I answer, watching her.

"_He _told me about the Volturi. He was trying to talk me into staying put. I'm sorry to say that it worked."

"So it's true then, you _did _try to jump out a window."

"I was going for the _roof."_

Her eyes close and she lets out an exasperated sigh. She straightens her back, a pained look now on her face, hand rubbing her forehead.

Eyes shut.

"Well? Say something!" I growl.

"Sit down," she says quietly.

I look at her in disbelief. She looks back, face unnaturally tired-looking, but it does nothing for me this time, arises no guilty sympathy or remorse. If anything, it only infuriates me more.

"No."

She gets up and makes to move towards me, but the minute she does, more of my shards re-appear to my aid and assemble, erecting a wall between us that keeps her from coming to my side of the room. I ignore the heartbroken, beseeching expression on her face.

"What does it matter if I tell you my version of what happened?" I hiss angrily. "_He's _a mind reader, isn't he? He read what was going through my head when it all went down, he must have told you everything—"

"He couldn't," she interrupts. Before I can argue, she continues, "He can't always read you. It's not like how it was with me, but it was still enough to throw him for a loop. When Brent was preventing you from leaving, he said your mind was…too confusing to be in. Muddled. That's why I wanted to know your version of what happened."

My shield pulses dangerously, cracks forming and spreading in its previously smooth, perfect surface. The strain from making Reni's room soundproof and the stress of the present is sapping this shield's stability. I curse under my breath.

"What do you mean 'how it was with you?'" I grit.

"…He can't read my mind. Not when I was human, and not now."

"Why?"

Every inch of the shield is covered in cracks now, no longer a clear, immaculate slab. Bit by bit, the wall crumbles into pieces, to my dismay, settling in the air around me. Meanwhile, oblivious, Mom backs up until the back of her thighs hit the edge of the table, never taking her eyes off the floor. Her hands grasp the wooden edge for support.

"I don't know. Neither did he or the others."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I burst, ignoring the remaining shards. "You didn't have to mention _him_, you could have just—"

"It was all connected," she states, without looking up. "You would have wanted to know more…and there was just so much. I wouldn't have known where to start."

_Are you frickin' kidding me?_

"Wouldn't have known where to start?" I repeat, glaring at her in disbelief. "How about the fact that Reni looks just like him? Or that he and his family make it a habit of playing Brady Bunch? How's that for a place to start? Or better yet, how about the fact that you told Reni that we'd go find him once the 'bad people weren't looking for us anymore'?"

Her eyes flash at the last sentence, but she still does nothing; no shouting, no screaming at me to keep it down, just that same goddamn air about her, like she's some sort of wounded animal waiting for death to claim her. A roar of frustration and outrage escapes my throat, and suddenly the window pane beside me explodes in a shower of broken glass. Translucent real shards mingle with pulsing emerald green as they fall and clatter to the floor.

"Why won't you do anything_?_" I explode at her. "Why aren't you reacting? For once can't you show something other than fucking misery or defeat when we're talking about him?"

"We've had this conversation before—"

"And it still doesn't mean anything! He lied to you! He strung you on for months, left you to the mercy of a psychotic bitch hell-bent on conquering the Olympic Peninsula, who by the way, you only ran into because you wanted to get a pregnancy test someplace where the _kind, humble, open-minded _citizens of Fork's wouldn't catch wind of it! And instead of slapping the shit out of him, you were planning on crawling back like some—"

"No!"

The sound of splintering oak mingles with her sudden shriek. She lunges out of her seat and appears in front of me, eyes alight with wild fury, but I meet her toe-to-toe. She restrains herself, her fists balled at her sides as the harsh sound of air entering and leaving her nostrils dominate the space between us.

"I understand that you're upset," she says through clenched teeth. "And I know you want answers, and I_ promise_ I'm going to give them to you. But you _have _to give me the benefit of a doubt here and let me_ explain._ It's not what it looks like!"

"What is it then?" I growl, walking back to the window, my feet crunching over the pieces of broken glass. It's just started to rain.

"…Me comforting your sister, for one. She was very alarmed by what her classmate said. She showed you the entire conversation, didn't she?"

"No. She _told _me. With her words."

"…I see."

"Do you?" I turn to her. "Why bother? It's not like it would have changed anything." She doesn't buckle under my livid gaze.

"… No, it wouldn't have…It was mostly a precaution."

"Precaution?"

"The world is small enough for our kind to inadvertently run into each other. I would rather have had you meet him on _my _terms, in a situation where I would have everything under control, than have you stumble across each other by accident, like what happened today."

"…You said _mostly_. What's the other reason?"

She returns to her side of the room, her back to me, ignoring the chair in favor of standing. "I _needed _him to know about you two, about me, about _everything."_ My lips curl in distaste. He could have been reduced to ash for all I care.

"You didn't owe him shit."

"It was never about owing him anything." She turns around, face softening as she looks at me. "…It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Not until I was ready and you two could handle it." Her eyes harden. "He's not Joham."

_No, he's a mind reader,_ I remind myself. _He'd know exactly the right thing to say, every time. He could have easily lied to her about not being able to read her mind… make her feel special…unique. _I grasp at the theories, the errant suspicions that I had brushed off as empty and meaningless, like straws. I hold on to each one, all of them fueling my indignation and _addicting,_ all-consuming hatred.

"How do you know?" I ask. "How do you know that he hasn't done what he's done to you on some other girl?"

Dry amusement, with just a hint of sadness, answers my angry mug, thoroughly confounding me even more.

"…Other than the fact that if he did this sort of thing regularly he'd have a mess of children by now, I know I'm the only one because attracting that sort of attention from the humans is exactly the kind of thing his family wants to avoid."

"What do you mean?" I think back to his family members, remembering their golden eyes. Vegetarian eyes.

"Their lifestyle is considered…unorthodox by the rest of the vampire world. They adhere strictly to vegetarianism, and I've told you, most vampires travel alone and are constantly on the move. _They_, on the other hand, try to stay in a particular area for as long as they can and operate as a _family_." I scoff at the last word.

"Their school attendance is just a formality, part of their ploy."

Realization makes my stomach churn. "So when you moved to Forks—"

"He was my biology partner," she affirms quietly. I look away in disgust.

"How young they can pass themselves off determines how long they can stay in a particular area. Since Edward and Alice look the youngest, they usually pose as Freshmen or Sophomores when they first arrive, which guarantees them at the most, four to six years. Their lifestyle, their routine's success, depends on staying, as much as possible, out of the public eye."

"So if screwing around with school girls is supposedly out of the question for him, how do _you _play into all of this?" I ask. She becomes somber again. Her fingers can't stay still, so she begins to twist the ends of her hair.

"He wanted to kill me on my first day." My heart stops.

"My scent called to him," she continues, unfazed by the disturbed expression I throw her way. "More so than any other scent he had ever come across in his one hundred and four years. He could barely stand to sit beside me during Biology. It took everything in his control not to slaughter me and the 20-something other people in the classroom."

"He was gone for the rest of the week. When he finally returned, he was….different. Determined. He spoke to me during Biology, wanted to know about my life before Forks. I really couldn't make heads or tails of him that first conversation. His quirks, how he _looked_, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. He had this…omniscient quality about him that I couldn't explain. But it was just an impression. My first impression of him. And it probably would have stayed just an _impression_ if Tyler Crowley's van hadn't almost crushed me."

"W-What?"

She grimaces.

"It was the morning after our first talk and the roads where still slippery from the ice. I parked my car in the student parking lot, but I stopped to look at the tires on my truck. Your grandfather put ice chains on them while I was asleep. We would barely say a word to each other at home and he was never very…open about his feelings, so the gesture really floored me. This horrible screeching sound caused me to look up, and the next thing I knew, this van was coming right at me. There wasn't any time for me to move out of the way, and even if there was I'd probably end up tripping and falling in its path. I thought I was a goner for sure…but he saved me."

She looks almost mystified now, eyes unfocused, like she's seeing something that's not there.

"I knew then that he—_they—_were something more. Before the van came at me, he was on the other side of the parking lot, and there was no way I could simply be pushed out of the way and come out unscathed. Anyway, before we went to the hospital he promised that he would explain, but of course, once I was done with my checkup he tried to downplay things. He was convinced that I would start telling everyone what I knew. I surprised him, though. I promised to keep his secret."

"He ignored me for the next couple of weeks. And I ignored him. It was like a contest for us to see who could go the longest without making eye contact or talking to each other…It didn't last. I blew up at him about a month after the van incident, and told him my suspicion that he regretted ever saving me. My assumption upset him greatly, more than it should have, but…"

She's pausing again, and I have to remind myself not to lose it. She opens her mouth, then closes it, then closes it again, but no sound escapes her throat. She closes her eyes, than swallows hard.

"Something changed for him between then and the next morning. I found him waiting for me in the parking lot before school….He said he was tired of staying away from me."

She stops playing with her hair. Her brows shoot up, even as her eyelids remain shut.

"The surprises didn't end there. He invited me to sit with him during lunch. He took being a self-loathing enigma to a whole new level, and later, when a classmate of mine was escorting me to the office because of another fainting spell I was having, he took me the rest of the way."Her eyes pop open, and the familiar pain splits across her face. "He always seemed to be at the right place at the right time."

"Like a knight in shining armor," I mutter to myself.

_He would have been less likely to kill someone if he had already known their history, known that they weren't just a faceless slab. Knowing would have made it easier to resist, and if he really couldn't read her mind, then he would have had to talk to her to find it out._

Why then, did he bring her into his world? It was one thing to know her well enough so he could stop himself from mindlessly killing her, completely another to let her in on his secret…

Or did he?

"How did you figure out he was a vampire? He tell you?" I ask her.

"No…I did research on the internet, but everything that had come up just seemed ridiculous and inconclusive. It wasn't until I talked with the son of your grandfather's best friend that I finally knew what he was. He and his father were Quileute, and a part of their tribe's legend was that of the blood drinkers._ Cold ones_, Jacob called them. Apparently this wasn't the first time the Cullens had been in Washington. According to Jacob, they had created a treaty with his great grandfather, Ephraim Black, several decades ago; that they would not set foot in La Push, not bite any humans in or around the area, and in exchange the tribe wouldn't reveal their secret to the human population."

She brushes back her hair with her fingers.

"There's more to the treaty, and how it's being implemented today, but we can get to that later... A lot happened those next couple of months. He saved me a couple more times, from monstrous humans to sadistic vampires alike, and every time he succeeded my faith in him grew. But it was more than that. The things we would talk about…the things he would say…everything about him enthralled me. I felt _whole_ when I was with him. I just…He was the one person I could truly identify with."

At my questioning look, she explains, "I never fit in. Not in Phoenix, and definitely not in Forks. My best friend was my own mother, and even then our relationship was dissolving because of my decision to move. But with him…it was like I was finally in-step. With him and his family…I felt like I belonged, for the first time in my life."

"And the fact that they were vampires didn't bother you?"

She shakes her head. "No. That was another thing that drew me to him; he wanted to be good, despite what he was, despite what they all were. Most vampires learn to embrace their killer instincts in the wake of the thirst. He and his family rejected them. They were living contradictions, living examples that there w_as _a choice, no matter what kind of hand you were dealt, and that humanity wasn't skin deep. I was in awe of them. I wanted to be a part of that."

"Even if it meant leaving everything behind?"

She doesn't respond. She begins to walk along the island counter, her back to me, absentmindedly trailing her fingers over the polished surface. Seconds pass, and she starts to murmur things under her breath, so low that I have to strain to hear her.

"I told myself they would be able to get on without me. Renee had her husband, and Charlie had everyone in Fork's and La Push to take care of him. I was going to leave them eventually anyway, only now it would be more permanent. And as for the few human friends that _were _actually my friends? Well, they'd mourn for a bit, and then go off to college and get on with their lives. I would fade into memory…just like I always did." She stops at the end of the island, her finger tracing an invisible pattern into the stone.

"I won't deny it. My reasons for wanting to be turned were born out of fear and insecurity; I was young…and I'd never been particularly good at anything. I was clumsy and ordinary. I could never understand _what_ he saw in me, why he apparently loved me, and I was terrified that he would lose interest and leave. I wanted to feel smart and pretty enough to deserve him and I didn't want to be the damsel in distress anymore. Vampirism seemed like such an obvious answer. I could have it all; him, the family I never had, the strength, the beauty, and the _knowledge _that not only would they never need to protect me from the world, but that _I _would be able to protect _them_… He didn't sugar coat it. He constantly told me about the never-ending burn, the all-consuming thirst, how unnatural it was for any of them to still be walking this Earth…But he and his family _proved _it could be overcome. The struggle just seemed to pale in comparison to what I would be getting in return. It was all a fantasy. My fairytale come to life…"

Slowly, she turns around and leans back against the counter, crossing her arms tightly.

"And then, everything fell apart on my birthday. We were all there at his house. I was opening my presents…when I cut my finger on the wrapping paper. Jasper was still honing his resistance, so he didn't have as much control as the others. He lunged at me, and it took everything for the others to hold him back. In the struggle, I was hurt. I had to get stitches, but I wasn't bothered. Carlisle was a doctor, so he was able to sew my arm back up as if nothing had happened, and Edward had always warned me of their natures, so I didn't hold it against Jasper. But it was the beginning of the end." She snorts humorlessly, squeezing her eyes shut. "I've already told you what happened next."

"And here we are, one big fucking reunion, five years later," I finish bitterly.

"...I know I haven't been straight with you in the past. But what I'm telling you right now is the truth; I didn't plan anything that happened today. Their appearance...was as much a surprise to me as it was to you."

I sigh, disheartened, thinking back to the hallway and the chaos that ensued.

"I know."

"...Why didn't you stay in the room? I told you to stay put," she admonishes.

"I didn't like the numbers." At her blank expression, I clarify, "Seven against one. I didn't like it."

"They wouldn't have done anything..."

"Like I was supposed to know," I growl, annoyed. "...It was either we stay in the room and I try to shield you, blind, or I join you and leave Reni in the room, alone..."

"Neither of which you chose in the end."

"They were shit choices." I look down at the pieces of glass at my feet. I kick a particularly jagged shard underneath the table. "At least if we were all together I could cover all of us without worry." Without any hesitation, I let my mind reach out to the assembled wall I erected in front of Reni's door. Still perfectly intact and effective. I hold back a snort.

_Capable of slicing through the strongest metals and stones on Earth, blocking the strongest of attacks, and yet when it comes to multi-tasking it's as ineffective as—_

"They thought your sister was an immortal child." Her words shake me out of my reverie. I raise my head, meeting her wary gaze, eyes narrowing.

"She has a heartbeat. Not to mention her eyes are brown. Are they fucking retarded?"

"No. Just scared. I told you before about the Quileute's…Another legend of theirs says they can turn into wolves."

My brow rises. "And?"

"…They're true."

I stare at her like she's just gone insane.

"Like…_real _wolves?"

"Somewhat. Just bigger. And apparently more menacing."

"You know you're not making any sense."

She shakes her head. "Is it really that unbelievable? You, your sister, and the others are supposed to be myth, yet here you all are. What makes the plausibility of _their _existence any different?"

I roll my eyes, annoyed. "Fine. They exist. What do they have to do with the Brady Bunch?"

"There are over a dozen transformed Quileute's right now. They believe it's their purpose to protect their reservation and the surrounding area from vampires. A couple of months after we left Washington they had a run-in with an immortal child—"

"—So the blond bitch immediately assumed that Reni was said immortal child," I conclude. She nods.

"And you wanted to join them," I grumble angrily to myself, as I rub my eyes.

"They were my family."

"I felt the love," I dead-pan. "Especially from Miss America and Alex Delarge."

"They were never this…quick to jump to conclusions. At least, not back then." She closes her eyes, stress and pain crinkling the corners, almost _aging _her before me, and another drop of guilt sizzles its way through my brain.

"…Alice was my best friend. Emmett was like the brother I never had. Esme and Carlisle…were there for me in ways Charlie and Renee never were. And Edward…Edward was my other half."

"And the other two?" I ask, not missing their exclusion.

"..Rosalie never really did take a liking to me. Jasper, on the other hand, had good reason to stay away, but we were on good terms…"

I turn my attention back to the now soaked window sill. I can't take any of this. It's like whatever's twisting my intestines has a direct line to the vein in my right temple.

But I can take the rage, the hate, boiling beneath my skin.

"But they still left," I say bitingly. "Despite how close they supposedly were to you, they left, and didn't even bother checking in to make sure you were ok."

"Do you think I don't know this?" she asks in a low voice. I hear her stride toward me, stopping once she's only a few feet away. "Do you honestly think that fact has never crossed my mind? That it never bothered me?"

"Well if it did, you had a funny way of showing it," I spit contemptuously, whirling around to face her. "Between painting himout to be like some out-of-this-world, nameless god whose presence you weren't even worthy of, and falling to pieces at anything that was even remotely related to him, I'm surprised you never arranged to have a golden statue of him erected in his honor…"

I've just crossed a line. I know it, she knows it, and I wait for it: the reprimand, the outburst, the denial of my accusation. And instead of feeling triumphant, I feel shitty as hell. The silence drones on, the bleak, despairing knowledge that I'm right my only company. And all the while, her face slowly remolds from bewilderment, to shock, to pain, and then to calm. Eerie calm. The kind you find in a psychotic before he gouges your eyes out with a pencil.

"You're not in my head," she says in a dangerously soft voice that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She takes another step towards me, eyes glassy and unblinking. "You have no comprehension of the sense of betrayal I felt when we were with _her _and they never came, no matter how many times I wrote for help on those slips of papers, hoping for Alice to see. Not even an inkling of how many times I've tried to pull myself back to who I was before Forks, to figure out what I did wrong, why I wasn't enough, why I couldn't move on, and what that meant for _me_. And for both of you."

She turns her back on me and returns to her side of the room, shoulders hunched, hands hugging her arms in that protective way she does when she's horribly vulnerable and upset. Half of me wants to bang my head repeatedly against the wall, but I don't move.

"…He said he loved me," she whispers to herself. I force myself to unglue my feet and move towards her but she flinches at my approach, so instead I settle myself against the back rest of the couch.

"…Then why didn't he turn you?"

"…He always talked about vampirism…as though it were a condemnation. I told you earlier…he found it unnatural."

"But apparently, not unnatural enough to keep him from sleeping with you."

"...No, I suppose not," she mumbles. "We talked a lot after you two left. About us, about the two of you, and everything that's happened so far." I pick at a loose thread in the leather.

"So?"

"…He said he was lying." Her voice has become toneless. Like she's in some sort of trance. "That what he told me in the forest wasn't true at all, that he _lied _so it would be a clean break, and I could move on and forget about him. So I could have a _happy, danger-free_, _normal_, _human_ life. "

"Of course he did," I mutter, pulling the cream-colored string from out of the confines of the leather. My eyes flicker up to her. She's facing me again, a solemn expression on her face.

"So…everything?"

"...He was distraught when I told him about what happened after he left. Horrified when I told him about…you and your sister's births. And unimaginably guilt-ridden when I told him the rest...So yes, everything." I scowl at her.

"Good."

Her tone ticks me off. She sounds almost…sympathetic. As if she feels _sorry _for him. The moment I think this, an ominous sense of foreboding settles in the air, like a thick fog. My heart beat picks up. I push myself off the back rest to stand upright but I don't venture further. Something tugs at me from deep inside my mind, but I brush it away.

I stare at her, and she stares back, trepidation and anxiety rolling off of her in waves, her fingers fidgeting with the ends of her hair, her eyes…full of…pity. And urging. She takes a tentative step towards me, and the faint hint of his scent still lingering on her hits me full force: Sunlight, honey and lilac.

"Why are you telling me this?" I finally ask her. She takes another step, then another, until we're inches apart and I'm staring down at her. Her face doesn't change.

His scent is intoxicating, like it's everywhere, like he's _everywhere._ The logical part of my mind tells me that's impossible, but I can't smell anything else. Not Mom's scent, not my own, not even the goddamn food slowly rotting inside the fridge.

_Why are you telling me this?_

And as I ask myself this, a sliver of the tugging thought reveals itself, and that's all it takes for me to see. And what I see turns my insides to ice. I'm shaking my head, my entire being re-filling with everything that I've felt in the past few hours and then some. I back away from her until my heels hit the couch.

"No. Fucking. Way."

I keep staring at her incredulously, but she doesn't yield, doesn't disprove me. An outraged growl rumbles in my chest.

_shesonehisisde._

This is a joke.

It has to be. A sick, twisted joke, or better yet, a fucked up dream my subconscious has cooked up because of my unresolved crap or whatever the hell Flan was going on about.

_She'sonhisside_

"He has no intention of leaving,"she says in a small voice. I feel the familiar sensation of my intestines being twisted, along with everything else. It's too much. I walk past her and stalk to my room, numb. Or at least, trying to be. She follows me, continuing on as I grab my black hoodie from my closet.

"None of them do. They want to help."

_She's on his side._

"Screw them."

I shove my arm through one of the sleeves, then the next. I kneel down to pull my pair of black Air Force Ones and a pair of socks out from under my bed, settling on the ground before stuffing my right foot into the first sock and shoe.

"And screw him."

_She's on his side._

My fingers pull the strings tightly, wearing out the threads that make up the long, thin rope.

"We don't need their help," I say angrily, through clenched teeth, the shock of her revelation finally dissipating. "If anything, hanging around them will put us in even more danger, or did he not tell you?" I look up at her darkly as I put on my other sock and shoe. "The Volturi are already keeping tabs on them. What the hell will happen if they come back and we're here?"

"Alice will see."

I hiss, breaking eye contact.

"And we'll explain. Everything. It's about time they knew the extent of the situation." I grind my teeth.

"Her visions have holes in them," I retort my eyes glued to my shoes. "She can't even see me clearly. What makes you think she'll be able to warn us about the Volturi?"

"It's better than nothing."

"Bullshit—"

"Use your head!" she exclaims, frustrated. "Can't you see? It doesn't matter whether we leave or not; if Aro touches any of them he'll know about us, our cover is blown!"

"I _don't_ care," I snarl. "We can run, we can join the others. Anywhere's better than here."

"He wants to help us, he wants to know both of you—"

"Don't," I say acridly, dropping the laces and resting my forearms on my knees. Past conversations bombard my mind, making me sick and enraged and itching to rip into marble and steel. I steal another glance at her and my ire increases.

_She's on his side._

"I don't want to hear it. It's always the same, anyway."

"What do you mean?" She crouches down to me until were at eye level, as though I really am my own age and I've just done something childish and wrong. She's doing it again: painting him out like some angel.

I chuckle bitterly.

"The excuses. For _him…_Nothing's changed."

_She's on his side._

I begin to tie the laces, my tone dripping with sarcasm, "He's a good person… he didn't know what he was leaving… he wouldn't have left if he had known… he's so _fucking _sorry—"

"Stop."

I get up off the floor and walk past her, zipping up my hoodie as I leave my room. I pass Reni's door as I stride down the hallway. The shield I made for her is still up, it should last until I leave the building. Once I'm back in the living room, I head for the front door but suddenly Mom's in front of me, blocking my way.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"You can't—"

"It's always _can't._" Just as I say it the burn in my throat flares back to life. I try to clamp down on the familiar onslaught, but like before it's not working. And to top it all off, she won't move_. _She blocks my way, and I have to hold back a snarl as I glare down at her.

"It's too dangerous."

"I'll take my chances."

"What are you trying to prove?" she asks, angrily now, her eyes gleaming with impatient fury. "That you're invincible? You know as well as I do how wrong that assumption is—"

"_What,_ I'm saying, is that I need to blow off _steam_! Because if I _don't_, this entire place is going to go down!" I yell. I step past her, continuing on until I'm at the door.

"Why won't you trust me?"

My hand freezes on the knob. I resist the urge to punch a hole through the wood.

_Not now. Why the fuck did you have to ask me this now?_

"It's not that I don't…I just…"

"You just don't trust my judgment."

I don't respond.

"…He's not who you think he is, no matter what Nahuel has tried to put into your head—"

"This isn't about Nahuel," I cut in, my grip mashing the metal knob like putty, my frame shaking with the effort from not letting myself turn around. "This is about the mess _he_ dumped _all_ of us in because he didn't have the balls to cut the strings from the beginning. This is about Reni not knowing the difference between a dad and a brother, and seeing things that she shouldn't see, things that she would never have seen if he hadn't passed down half his DNA to her. This is about what we are, about me having to k—" I bite back the words, looking to the ground in shame. The tension between us reaches an all-time high. After a stiff silence, I hear her slowly walk up behind me and place a hand on my shoulder.

"…You didn't throw her pieces into the fire," she reminds me quietly.

"I'mthe reason all that was left were pieces."

"…You were frightened. How can you judge yourself so harshly on something that was out of your control?"

I close my eyes, letting my fore head rest against the wooden surface of the door. Seconds pass.

"It should have been him." I re-open my eyes. It's a bitter lament that when voiced almost douses the grotesque horror I feel. "He should have gotten rid of her." The fingers on my shoulder curl involuntarily, not to comfort, but as though in _reflux. _The action piques my memory. Something she said. I rack my brain, going over everything that she has just told me…

And then I find it, and it clicks into place. It's so obvious, so clear now that I can't believe I didn't put it together before.

"You said he saved you from sadistic vampires."

Her hand falls lifelessly from my shoulder.

"He did."

"…It was her, wasn't it?" She says nothing, but her silence is all the confirmation I need. I let go of what's left of the knob. It breaks off from the door and clangs to the floor, rolling into the corner.

"They didn't think she was a threat," she says softly. "Her mate was a tracker, who thought it would be great sport to hunt a human guarded my seven vampires. When he was killed, she didn't bother avenging him, she just vanished. We all thought that was the end of her."

"And we all know the tragic end to that story," I say sarcastically.

"…He was trying to protect me." I turn around slowly, in disbelief. She looks up at me with saddened eyes. Tired eyes.

"He thought his presence was attracting danger to me. Putting _me_ in danger."

_She's on his side._

"You believe that." I state, my tone unnaturally calm, while my mind reels with feelings of the blackest batch. "You believe what he told you, not even five hours ago."

"…I do."

I let out a calm exhale, nodding my head, before spinning around and putting my fist through the wood.

A cry of surprise, but I ignore her, sending the door off its hinges with another well-placed punch. It crashes into the opposite wall in the hallway, finally falling flat at my feet, battered and broken. I side step it as I head for the elevator. My eyes squint from the brightness but I trudge on, my footsteps muffled by the carpeted floor, Mom practically hovering behind me.

"I know how you feel about him," she begins, as we walk past our neighbor's doors at human speed. I ignore her, my eyes locked on the sleek, silver panels of the elevator.

"This isn't easy for me either, but it's the best shot we have at surviving this insanity…" I stuff my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, my fingers finding the paper carton of Marlboro's and my lighter.

"I can't re-write the past…no matter how many things right now feel as though they shouldn't be, but this is about the future. All of our futures: mine, yours, Reni's, your father's—"

"Don't call him that," I interrupt, turning around to glare at her. "Don't ever use that word to describe him again."

"… Like it or not, he is—"

"He is _not _my father." My nostrils flare in blatant scorn. "As far as I'm concerned, I _have _no father."

"What you're thinking isn't true," she tries again desperately, as we arrive in front of the elevator.

"Really? What am I thinking?" I ask sardonically as I keep pressing the button on the wall.

"That this choice is simple and uncomplicated. Effortless…for me." The panels slide open and I slip inside.

"Hard to think different when you've already taken him back." Her eyes flash in hurt and anger at my words, at my disrespectful jibe, but I don't care. The panels begin to close.

"I didn't."

* * *

I love reviews. Tell me what you think. How else am I going to improve? ;)

*Remember chapter five.

_***Anonymous reviews: **While I understand the desire for privacy, some of you leave great messages that I end up not being able to respond to. As for the messages that aren't so great...You're allowed to give me your reasoning's for why you think something is wrong, yet, I can't extend to you the same courtesy. So please, as much as possible, no anonymous reviews. Thank you._


	10. To stay

RL's a bitch. That's all I'll say.

*NOTE: This chapter is only partially beta'd. I will add the necessary edits once they return to me. So just a fair warning to you all. Stuff may get switched around or changed or added in. Not a lot. It will still be the same chapter, just slightly modified.

RECAP: Tony and Reni walk home and he starts becoming unhinged enough to contemplate draining a human. Part of Reni's ability is revealed when they both walk past the scene of a past homicide. Later Tony and Bella talk while Reni sleeps. Bella opens up about her relationship with Edward and her plans, which only serves to fan the flames. In the end, Tony storms out of the apartment, but not before Bella tells him that she did not take Edward back.

* * *

_Hours prior_

E

"Why?"

One word, so commonly used and taken for granted in everyday speech…and yet her utterance is enough to nearly bring me to my knees. I open my eyes, only to be met with her distressed gaze.

"You wouldn't have truly been able to let go, if I hadn't. All it would have taken was a single drop of hope."

Her face drains of all emotion, until I'm all but staring at stone. She backs away from me. The distance between us instantly causes new cracks to form in my heart. Minutes pass, each second of silence increasingly agonizing.

"So that's it," she says, finally. "I would forget you, just like that. Blow you off as some high school fling, go to college, get married and settle down with the white picket fence, the golden retriever, and the doting husband…"

"I—"

"Yes or no Edward." I flinch at the venom her tone suddenly embodies.

"Yes," I say quietly.

"And if I didn't move on? If I never forgot you? If I spent the rest of my life drifting like a zombie because of what you did? Did you even consider a scenario where your leaving didn't result in a happily ever after?"

I have nothing to say. Not because I don't know the answer…but because I do.

And it is "no."

I did not consider my leaving to be anything BUT the best possible choice for her. I can't bear to say it aloud, to hear the admission fall from my own lips, the seemingly charged words that with its utterance confirms this nightmare I've created as reality. But it's out of my hands. As time goes on, I realize too late that my silence, my cowardice, is exactly the answer she expects. Like a dying plant she wilts, her petite frame seemingly shrinking into herself as the devastation she undoubtedly feels takes its toll.

"How could you think that?" she mumbles, pain lacing her every word. "How could you even consider, after everything we've been through together, after everything I'VE been through for you, that I could just wipe you from my memory?"

"Bella—" I try, desperately.

"That I would even want to?" she bursts. Faster than she could ever have been as a human, she appears before me, grabbing the collar of my shirt. She stares at me, as though I'm something she can't even comprehend. More minutes pass; it could have been hours and I wouldn't have known the difference.

"I loved you." My gut clenches. Her words are an anguished whisper, a secret that she expects me to know. "I told you I loved you. Wasn't that enough? Weren't my words enough?"

"They were," I try to tell her vehemently, but she's not even looking up at me anymore, not listening. Still uncomprehending, her eyes are glued to our feet, head shaking in disbelief and increasing distress.

"Wasn't what we did that night enough?"

My heart finally cracks in two. My jaw locks, teeth clenching as the urge to cry out in denial of this moment, this reality, threatens to erupt from my throat. Tremors form in my hands as the need to embrace her distraught form, to do something, _anything _to bring her out of her pain overwhelms me. When I can't take it anymore, my hands go to cradle her face, thumbs under each eye, prepared to wipe away tears that in the back of my mind I know will never be shed.

"Please…Bella, look at me," I beg her. The tone of my voice seems to finally catch her attention.

"H-how could you…do it?" she asks brokenly, and to my increasing distress, she tries to escape me, slender fingers curling around my wrists, trying to rip herself away.

"Because…you were capable of change."

"W-what?" She looks at me now with confusion, hands stalling. Guilt over everything translates into blistering, heart-wrenching pain. I swallow hard.

"You were human…You had the capacity to grow, to mature beyond what you already were. Emotions…memories…they fade, but not for us. The bonds we form can never be broken, no matter what we experience or how long ago it was—"

"You assumed that what I felt for you, what I felt for all of you…wouldn't withstand the test of time."

I cringe, struggling to keep my fingers from curling convulsively and digging into her skin, though a part of me knows I'm incapable of hurting her physically now.

She finally succeeds in prying my hands away from her face. I let them fall to my sides lifelessly. Panic and trepidation begins to build in me. I try to read her face, the open book she had joked to be her condemning tell to her friends and family, only to find it closed. Unreadable. Blank.

"I'm sorry—"

"Edward." The disappointment and dejection in her tone turns my insides to ice. "You are a fool."

_Present time_

A gust of wind pushes away the dead leaves at my feet. Carlisle continues to approach me, until finally I can see my figure through his gaze. He crosses the tree line and joins me in the small clearing. I don't turn around.

_Edward._

His mind is full with assurances to give, theories to discuss, plans to formulate. Ever the objective patriarch. I try to ignore his incessant ramblings. I want to be _alone…_I should be alone. He tries to tell me it's a tremendous amount to take in, sympathy lacing his accompanying thoughts. He tries to get me to say something.

I can't.

_We_ were the only immediate danger. We were pieces of a puzzle trying to fit into a frame in which we did not belong—the only conceivable solution was to leave, to retreat back into our own world, the box we had built for ourselves.

And she would mourn.

She would rage. She would grieve…and then she would move on. She would resume her original plan and leave Forks, go to college, and fulfill the dreams she had before terrible luck threw her into our path. She would meet someone worthy to hold her heart, someone _human, _no matter how agonizing it would be for me, and she would be happy. I'd become nothing more than an unpleasant memory, something she could tell her children, and perhaps grandchildren, as the years passed. Like a flower she would blossom while we remained diamonds— flawless, dazzling, indestructible. The same, for all eternity: unnatural, inhuman and _abhorrent._ In my leaving, she would not be condemned to this half life forced upon all of us. In my leaving, she would remain whole.

I was wrong. In my leaving, I broke her.

My heart twists, mind still reeling at the knowledge that everything I have done has been for naught. No, not just for naught…my plan has _backfired_ in every possible way. Ibrought her into the forest. I recited those awful words, the script I had written in my mind, meant to protect her in the only way I thought I could. My performance was flawless.

Too flawless.

She believed me. Every single blasphemous lie that I forced out of my throat, she believed, one hundred percent; I saw what it did to her, I watched her face crumble in devastation… but I did nothing. I allowed her to feel used, inadequate, _less than nothing,_ and so my plan worked… in ways that I could not begin to imagine. What I planted took root, festered into something wicked. Poisonous. So toxic and potent that not even the burn of the transformation could eradicate it. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

"_Anthony. For his eyes," she says quietly. My eyes pop open. I stare at her numbly as she peeks at me through her curtain of hair. "Charles, for my father."_

_Tony. Short for Anthony…I swallow hard. _

"_And Reni?"_

_I long pause. "I couldn't decide between Renee or Esme…at first."_

A boy and a girl. I picture them in my mind—the young man who is neither what he seems nor what he aspires to be, and the little girl that resembles me so. My eyes close tight in remorse. She was already carrying them when I said those things to her. They had no protection. She had to take matters into her own hands…

And it should have been me.

_I_ should have ripped Victoria to pieces. _I_ should have comforted her when she was frightened. My venom should be running through her veins…not my son's.

"Alice and the others are back home."

He's behind me. The guilt that permeates his mind fills me with shame and outrage. He blames himself for what I've done. I let out a frustrated groan, spinning around to glare at him. He stares back, watching me carefully, knowingly. I feel my face twist in anger.

"Don't. All of this stems from _my _choice."

"A choice that I needn't have followed." He surveys me through solemn eyes as he moves closer, unfazed by my agitated stance. "She was my daughter…_Our_ daughter…and your siblings' sister, just as much as she was your mate..."

I shake my head. "I'm the one that convinced you to uproot everyone else—"

"She trusted me...to be on her side when the time came to change her," he cuts in. His mind paints a deeper picture of his remorse, his disappointment and regret in himself, his judgment. He remembers the night of her birthday, their conversation as he was sewing up her arm, conveying his dissonance with my belief in our lack of souls, and in turn, revealing to her his support of our relationship.

_You_ _both knew of my disagreement with you about the nature of our souls_, he silently reminds me, _but when challenged by your reasoning and your pleas, I buckled. I abandoned my convictions, convictions in which I had faith in for centuries_. He sighs, running his hand through his blond locks, gaze hardening.

_Your mistakes are your own, and you are entitled to your guilt…just as I am to mine._

"If I had just trusted her…had not been so arrogant to believe that what she felt for me was but a shadow of what I felt for her… none of this would have happened," I say quietly, the familiar shame filling me and overriding everything else. "You can't deny that. Look what I've done to her…look what I've done to _them."_

He says nothing. I don't know whether to feel grateful or upset by his silence, mental and verbal. I decide to change the subject.

"How much did they hear?" I ask, referring to others.

"The majority," he says apologetically. _Alice suggested we leave when you two began discussing your relationship._ More sorrow and sympathy emanating from his mind. I nearly shudder in revulsion. I don't want his or their pity. Not when I deserve everything she has said to me._ You couldn't hear them during Bella's initial explanations?_

"No." This intrigues him. He starts to pace, humming thoughtfully. _We'll have to contact the Denali's. Eleazar may be able to shed some light on Bella's gift, and upon what exactly Tony and Reni are capable of. It's nothing short of astounding…I've never seen anything like it. The gifts we bring into this life are incapable of change. They can be developed, yes, but only to a pre-determined extent. What she and her brother are doing…It's unheard of._

"Do you think we can trust them?" Despite Eleazar's renunciation of his past, a part of me is still wary of him. It's a primal instinct—to protect what is precious to me, the urge now extended to my children. Irrational and iron-clad, but something I can understand and have already experienced with their mother.

If they are harmed, so am I.

"I think so. The truth is impossible to miss after close examination. It's just a matter of properly explaining…and preparing." _This goes beyond everything the Volturi has considered. We must all stick together. Now, more than ever. _

I sigh. "I know...trust me, right now, there's nothing more that I want…" _No,_ I realize suddenly. _There is something more that I want._ Effortlessly, their faces come back to me, happy and whole. My longing reaches new heights…but it's never that simple, and I'm not delusional. Not anymore.

"…you saw him in the hallway," I continue on, "you heard what Bella said of his intentions for when he comes of age…"

"That's two years away. There's still time…" Carlisle mutters, but even without reading his mind, I can hear the worry lurking in his tone. _He's young. Practically still a child. _I can't help but give him a scathing look.

"He hates me. As he should. I highly doubt his opinion would have softened if we'd met when he was already fully grown."

_That's not what I was implying_.

"Than what was it?" I snarl. "That he would forgive me? For abandoning them? For mutilating his mother's heart after she had so willingly given it to me?" He growls at me in warning, but I stalk away in response, agitatedly pacing back and forth, frustration forcing me to breathe in more air than I need.

_I meant what I said; he's still young, _he thinks patiently._ Even if he truly were the age he seemed we would still be having this conversation. The fact that he has seen and experienced hardship, no matter how traumatizing, does not make him an adult…It doesn't exempt him from needing guidance, nor from making his own mistakes. _

Tony's enraged face as he put the strange, invisible weapon to my throat returns to the forefront of my mind. My mouth settles into a hard line. "He's not going to accept me, let alone listen…"

"And that will stop you from being his father?"

Outrage ignites in me at the _suggestion _in his tone and thoughts. I appear before him in the blink of an eye, hands clenched tight.

"That. Is. Not. What. I. _Meant_." Does he not understand what I have been saying this whole time? My human memories are faded, muddled, but I can _remember_.

My father always provided for us, my mother and I. He made sure I received an education, had a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs. For all of his emotional misgivings, he fulfilled the duties expected of him in my what have I accomplished?What duties have I fulfilled?

They have grown up in squalor, with only a broken-hearted mother, my absence, and the constant threat of destruction for company, while I aimlessly attempted to track what I believed to be the last supernatural threat left to her existence…I didn't know that I was too little too late…that the deed had already been done. Five years of drowning in my self-loathing and regret, wandering the globe, chasing a ghost.

Five years _wasted._

"I am _not _going anywhere," I growl at him. _"_I'm being realistic—"

"As am I," he replies wryly, standing his ground as he fixes me with a cool stare. "Mourning the choices you have made, the choices _we _have made, is no longer a luxury we can afford."

"You expect me to just disregard their suffering? Sweep it under the rug as though nothing more than dust?" I spit.

"No. I expect you to be a man." His firm declaration stuns me into silence. He walks away from me, hands behind his back, allowing a generous distance to form between us. He breathes carefully through his nose, almost methodically, and if I were not a mind reader, I would have no idea of the anger he feels towards me in this moment.

"What they went through was terrible," he continues softly, after a while. "Unacceptable. However, you cannot change what has already happened. Only what _will _happen, and you will not even be able to do _that,_ if you keep allowing yourself to wallow in your shame and regret."

_They need you._

I stare at him numbly, his words sending shivers down my spine. I feel my knees give away as I finally crumble to the floor. The more I analyze, the more I see what I have done, why I did it, what I'm doing now…and he is right. It's as though I'm seeing everything through new lenses, every sentiment, every detail of perfectly preserved memory magnified to an even greater extent, transcending the haze and muck of my guilt, until it's all but forgotten. The knowledge of what I am finally hits me in that moment, the magnitude of its meaning felt more clearly than when Bella had confirmed it.

_I'm a father. _

Carlisle chooses that moment to return and sit beside me, his timing impeccable. Creeping doubt and fear rears from within me, turning my veins to ice. Nothing in my ninety two years as an immortal has prepared me for this. So much has already changed since I was but a foolish young man, yearning for military glory, oblivious to what bloodshed truly entailed…

"Carlisle…" I cannot control the surge of dread and despair I feel asking him this. "What do I do? I was never…I could never fathom…How do I fix this? Can I even fix this?"

He squeezes my shoulder reassuringly.

"Just be there for them…I wish it were as simple as reciting a speech…but we both know that's not how it works…This is going to take time." _I'm sorry son. I honestly can't determine whether or not your relationship with her can resume its original course._

"It can't," I say softly. "Things…can never go back to how they once were. I made sure of that…"

"We're immortal." I feel his gaze on me, one that I don't care to return. "Eternity is a long time for someone to remain unforgiving." _She still loves you. I don't need Jasper's gift to see it, and neither does anyone else._

I shake my head. "Even if she does, it doesn't change anything."

I get up off the floor, turning away from him. My pain, my sorrow, is insignificant. I have been of no use to them for the last five years, and that can no longer be. Whether they reject me or not, I will never leave them again. With that in mind, the information Bella has allowed me to know returns to the surface, reminding me of what still needs to be done.

"_They're venomous. In their own way."_

_She leans against the tree trunk, arms folded protectively over her chest. She keeps her eyes on the ground, deep in thought. _

"_The males are capable of turning a human like any other full vampire, but for the females…" She sighs, closing her eyes tight in her stress._

"_I don't know the science behind it all. Nahuel was always vague, but I think that was more because it was new information for him as well. His sister, Jennifer, was the real expert on it. All I know for sure is that if Reni bites anyone, they won't turn."_

"Earlier you were considering running tests on Reni," I state, without looking at him. That garners his attention. He rises from the floor. I can see from the tenor of his thoughts that her ability both excites and worries him greatly.

"With yours and Bella's permission. The seizures she's been experiencing are troubling." _Just to make sure she's alright. Perhaps an MRI and some blood work as well…_ I nod once, letting out a steady breath.

_We're all behind you on this. They're our family now, too._

The space between us is suddenly filled with the ring of his cell phone. He answers it regrettably, until he hears who is on the other end.

"Is he there with you?" Alice's anxious tone puts us on alert.

"I'm here," I say, as I join Carlisle at his side. She sighs in relief before starting.

"It's like the natural flow of what I can usually see has been disrupted. At some points, I can't see at all, but if I focus on things that are farther along the line, on things that are major…I can get vague glimpses," she trails off. "It's almost like how the wolves affect me, except—."

"You can see them," I finish. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. Carlisle?" I turn to him, his mind already at work listing the common factors between the two.

"Both are warm blooded," he begins, "temperatures ranging well above human level, have similar metabolisms despite their differences in diet, and…are both technically _alive."_

"But not human," I add. "At least, not completely."

"Hmm." He recalls Tony's rapid growth rate. "The wolves cease aging when they first phase. And in some cases, the change hastens their physical growth...There are just as many similarities… as there are differences."

"Like how Tony and Reni are venomous while they aren't," Alice concludes.

"Precisely."

"What does this have to do with you needing to know if I'm here?" I finally ask her. I'm tired of this—tip toeing around the real issue. A long pause. The wait grates on my nerves. Something is wrong. I can _feel _it.

"Alice?" Carlisle asks for my benefit.

"I can't see anything right now. At all."

Our forms immediately tense at her words. Before I can get angry at her for not telling us sooner, Carlisle sets into action, asking her sharply, "Have they contacted you?"

"They left a message on the home phone. I just checked it a couple of minutes ago. They're demanding a meeting. Same time and place as before. They want _all _of us there."

"No," I snap, thinking of Bella, Reni, and Tony. "They've done nothing wrong. The original treaty hasn't even been violated—"

"It doesn't matter," she says grimly. "You know how…defensive they've become, after everything that's happened to them. They're not taking any chances. It's either all of us, or Sam calls off the truce."

T

_Jeffrey Reinhardt. DOB: May 8__th__, 1964. Weight: 190 ibs. Height: 5'9. Date of expiration: August 20__th__, 2014_

I flip the imitation leather wallet closed, throwing it aside, sighing in discontent. The alley is dark, decrepit. A few feet away from me lays an upturned trashcan, its contents rotten and sour. I hold my breath. I should go, get out of here while I still can and the pigs haven't arrived, but I don't. I can't. Instead I lean back against the wall, ignoring the sounds of the night, the sirens…and the sight before me. My hands clench to stop them from shaking.

_You promised her. _My back slides down the wall, until I'm balancing on my toes. My head starts to pound, the gnawing hunger burning in the pit of my stomach.

_You're in control. _

The words repeat in a never ending loop. A pathetic mantra meant to comfort me, to bring me into some sort of calm, clarity-filled state. I don't take a breath, no matter what, I _won't _allow myself to. I'm in control.

_But for how long?_

I slipped up. This wasn't supposed to happen, none of it—Mom, Reni, Brent, _Him, now._ So much beneath the surface: the familiar anger, the confusion, despair, fear. The lies. It's still there. Nothing's changed. I'm still a mess, I'm still fucked up and it's never going to end, it's never going to stop. Everything is happening just the way _he_ said it would. She was wrong. Mom was _wrong._

I pound my head with my fists, as though the action can rid the memory of _them_ from my mind—_his family._ She said she was doing it to protect us…that _they _would be able to protect us…Like I haven't heard _that _before. I'm tired of being protected, of being treated like I'm sort of helpless lamb. I'm not. I'm a shield. _I_ can protect us…but she doesn't think so. We're stuck here, where I can only watch as it all plays out. Just like before…

A wet, injured gurgle reminds me of where I am and who I'm with. My anger melts away. I should be feeling revitalized…stable….like that for once I've done something right. I should be feeling _validation, _but right now…I don't know what to feel. My eyes flicker up to the strangely clear sky.

I want to scream. Yell. Until the burn of the thirst is lost amidst the searing pain of my throat tearing. It would fit, my mind is already torn anyway. Do's and don'ts, can'ts and won'ts. Choices discarded because either my conscience or my animalistic side keeps getting in the way…She said things would get better, she said it wouldn't be like this always. That was less than a year ago and it's already getting worse. How can it be happening like this already? Why is this happening now?

_Why are you mocking us?_ I ask to the sky._ Why are you mocking me?_

No answer, of course. My eyes flicker back down to the ground, disheartened.

I'm about to haul myself up to leave when I see something among the garbage in front of me—a flash of gold. Blinking, I crawl towards it, my jeans soaking up the rain water and grime that coats the alley-way floor.

It hangs from the neck—A chain. Heavy. My index finger hooks around it and pulls. The clasp breaks. The small piece of jewelry coils on the floor. I pick it up, letting the shiny metal snake through my fingers. Despite the muck and blood that coats it I can still distinguish its iridescent shine. My heart starts to slow as the despair all but disappears, vision fading as I remember:

_When I wake, it's not warm anymore. _

_In the sky, the clouds are covering the yellow circle. I turn my head. Reni's asleep, mouth open as she breathes in an out. I sit up, pushing off my side of the blanket. A breeze passes by, raising the bumps on my skin and messing up my shirt. I'm scared. The tall things that surround us, that starts off brown then become green, the trees…I feel like they're watching me. _

_Suddenly I hear a noise—footsteps. My heart starts beating really really fast. My eyes go to the trees in front of us. Something's moving inside…I focus hard, on finding the green things again. I need them right now. Mama said not to use them, but I'm not, I just want to see them, that's all. It'll make me feel better just to see them…But after a few more seconds I quit. I don't need them after all. I can see her now._

_I get off the blanket and try to run to her, even though my legs are still wobbly and not used to it yet. I stumble a bit, and almost fall, but I always catch myself right before it happens. Mama crouches down and watches me, eyes wide, a small smile on her face. Kind of scared too, but I don't mind, I'll be fine. I don't know why she looks so worried. _

_She calls my name in that sweet way as she holds her arms out. When I make it to her, a weird sort of laugh comes out of her mouth, like she's pushing it out of the pit of her stomach, and she hugs me tight, covering the back of my head with her hand. I hug her back, quickly smelling her hair, enjoying the scent. _

_Picking me up, she walks with me in her arms to the blanket and sits down, shifting me so I'm sitting in her lap, facing forward. _

"_Were you a good boy?" she asks me in pretend-seriousness when she's done checking on Reni. I smile in return and nod my head, cuddling closer to her. Even if she's cold, it still feels nice, and her skin is soft, like mine. _

_She takes off her back pack and sets it in front of us, taking out our bottles and the big red jug. My tummy grumbles in response. Once she pours some red stuff into my bottle, she gives it to me. I lie back against Mama as I drink. She wraps one arm around me while the other goes to pick up Reni and sit her on the other side of her lap. That's when she wakes up. She blinks up at Mama before gurgling something I can't understand, sucking on her fists. Mama starts humming a strange tune as she gets the other bottle for Reni and helps her drink, since she can't hold it on her own yet. I sigh, happy._

_Soon it's warm again. I close my eyes, the brightness hurting them. When I open them, I look up; the clouds aren't covering the circle anymore. I turn around to point it out to Mama, but as soon as I do I forget all about it._

_All her skin is sparkly. Like rocks when you hold them up to the circle. Shiny. I can't speak. I let go of my straw with a pop, and reach up to touch her face. That catches her attention. She was thinking hard again. She smiles down at me and covers my hand with hers._

"Put your hands up where I can see them!"

The officer's commanding demand shatters the memory. I let out my held breath, the resulting inhale of everyone's mixed-scents torching the walls of my throat all over again.I listen to the commotion behind me, flipping my hood over my face as I stand, the chain still laced around my fingers as I raise my hands: one cop car, three humans. The piece of garbage at my feet groans, his action finally forcing me to look directly at him.

Blood still dribbles out of his nostrils and over his busted-open lips. Black and blue bruises, in differing stages of healing mar his face, one of his eyes already reduced to a swollen, dark violet balloon. A shallow gash near the crown of his head is peppered with tiny grains of grey cement brick from the building wall. Midst the dented, damaged flesh, the familiar crimson still leaks out. I follow the trail of dark-red as it snakes through the bristle of his crew-cut, down the smooth crevice between his hairline and ear before disappearing under the collar of his navy blue button-down.

More voices. Radio sounds. I let out an involuntary hiss, my back stiffening as I try to ascertain exactly how much time I have. My eyes are still locked on the body lying in fetal position on the oil-coated asphalt. Another wave of hunger erupts in the pit of my stomach. I turn my back on all of them. My eyes spot the criss-cross wiring of the metal fence further down the alley. I prepare to run.

_This isn't what you want, _the beast hisses. My knees lock in place. _You know it, he knows it, and I know it. Live a little… It's different now, not like before. Can you believe the luck? Maybe there is a god. Out of the damn blue he drops you this motherfucker right here…You'd be doing society a favor._

"Put your hands on your head, now!

_There are three of them right now. You've already demonstrated that you have the control, just knock them out and take the meat sack to go…they won't know what hit 'em._

"No, officer wait—"

The woman's voice makes my blood run cold. I was mistaken. _Two _policemen, _one _civilian, _one _lowlife.

"Miss, please, get back in the car—"

"No! You don't understand— "

Without listening to another word, I bolt. Shouts of protest, panicked and outraged, erupt behind me, followed by the scrape of leather on cement as its owners give chase. I hop the fence Olympic style, earning yelps of surprise, falling hard on my feet on the other side. I stuff the chain into my jean pocket before pushing back on my heels to let loose, racing through the rest of the passage.

Turn after turns. Ladders up until I'm on the roof of buildings, open sky, the night air whipping through my face; a welcoming respite after what I've just done. The scrunch of gravel, ladders down. More darkness…until I can't hear the sirens anymore. I lean back against another crumbling brick wall.

_What the hell did you just do?_

I hit the back of my head against the wall in frustration. Gulp after gulp of clean air does nothing to get the memory of his scent out of my mind—the onion twinge of sweaty, unwashed skin, his sweet smelling blood. I swallow hard, to keep myself from gagging. The reality of what I've just done finally begins to sink in.

_Why do you feel bad? It's what you're designed to do…_the beast whispers. I fish around frantically in my pocket for my lighter and cigarettes.

_You're an idiot._

My hands shake as I light up.

I stuff the small, cardboard box and plastic lighter into my jean pocket. As I do so, my wrist brushes against the protruding bulge in my jacket. My hand digs inside, pulling out the black spray can. I stare at it, the cap bound in plastic, still waiting to be twisted open. My shoulders slump against the brick, lips dry as I let the smoke escape through the corner of my mouth.

…_._

_My eyes search the shelves hungrily as I stride down the aisle, ignoring the whispers of the girls at the front desk, the giggles. Halloween masks, baskets of candy, decorations, knickknacks…I pause over the knickknack area, where a small wooden box of bagged marbles reside. A particular one catches my eye: a boulder. Deep blue. My fingers twitch, and less than a second passes before I rip open the netting, swipe the shiny round ball and stuff it safely in my back pocket. Knots in my shoulder that I hadn't known existed loosen. A small gush of relief washes over me. I continue on. _

_I finally find what I'm looking for: spray paint cans. In varying colors: red, blue, yellow, green, purple, black…Black's good. I can work with black. It feels right. Moving at lightning speed, I swipe the can off the shelf, scrape off the bar code, and stuff it into my jacket. Like with the marble, I've done it so fast that not even the security cameras will have caught it. I head back to the front of the store. The girls are still talking, but I ignore them. I'm about to pass through the purchase detectors._

"_Umm, did you find everything alright?"_

_I stop. My heart's beating so hard and fast. The urge to run is almost overwhelming…but instead, I turn around. She and her two companions—girls her age— are trying very very hard not to ogle me. I manage to give her a passable answer._

_I'm out the door before she can strike up a conversation. My hands shake. I breathe in and out as I stride down the sidewalk, trying to calm myself. I'd forgotten how strong the rush was._

…_.. _

I turn the hand holding the can around, revealing my knuckles…and the blood. My stomach twists. I let the cigarette drop from my lips. The beast's words from before echo mockingly in my mind, his gleeful encouragement increasing in volume.

_Won't be long now…_ I kick off the wall to pace in the narrow space, one hand going to my already-rumpled hair, the other gripping the can until my nails are buried in the metal.

_You're not in control. No matter how much you delude yourself by reducing their faces to pulp-_

Cool, strong-smelling paint dribbles over my fingers, the droplets plopping to the floor.

-_instead of drinking from them. _

I chuck the paint can at the opposite wall with a roar. It explodes on impact, contents splattering everywhere, the mess an all-encompassing blob of black on the rust-colored brick. I don't see the black, though. I see _blood. _The clawing ache in my stomach sharpens. Bile builds in the back of my throat. My knees feel weak, but I force myself to start walking towards the street lamps, leaving the alleyway and entering the sidewalk. I look around: old buildings. Boarded up. Abandoned. The air still smells damp, with a hint of wood. There's no one here. I must be in the old part of town. I sigh, relieved.

_You can't keep doing this forever._

I don't intend to.

_Bullshit._ _You've already had a taste..._

My eyes lock on the grainy floor. I block out the rest as I continue walking, passing more buildings and a few vacant lots…I never killed them. I never hurt the ones they were _going _to kill…or rob…or maim….or rape.

_You weren't doing it for them._

I grind my teeth, fighting the urge to pulverize the derelict buildings I pass.

_Deny my existence however you want to, but don't deny what you already know. They were easy targets. So you could sleep at night._

My feet finally reach the end of the sidewalk. I look up, tall, spindly grey trunks greeting me—the end of town and the beginning of the forest. I take in a deep breath, dirt, dead leaves, water and wood hitting the back of my nose, and without another wasted second, dive into the darkness.

The world flies behind me, my feet hitting the ground so fast that the resounding scrunch of my shoes is lost in the whip of wind my speeding body creates. Harder I push my legs, everything becoming a blur of dark as I let my senses truly kick in. I take another deep whiff of the air, and I suddenly wonder why I didn't do this before, why I didn't head for the forest immediately after leaving the elevator. The errant thought almost distracts me from the sudden scent of elk in the air. I veer left then come to a stop, listening harder at my surroundings. A snap of a twig there, a rustle in the bushes here…a thick thumping heartbeat several feet to my right…

Silently, I creep closer, hearing it now—the steady drum of the elk's beating heart. A bush is in my way. I part the leaves a fraction…and there it is, limbs frozen, neck elongated as it tries to find a potential threat in the darkness. I take a step closer.

Suddenly it scurries away in the opposite direction, and with a curse I run after it. It zigzags through the brush, effortlessly navigating through the maze of identical trees, but I easily surpass it and circle back.

I end up charging at it head on, knocking it off its feet. Before it can get up I have its flailing, bleating body in my arms. I end up on my knees as it desperately tries to escape, dragging the animal into my lap.

Once I find its neck, I bite down, ignoring the bristle of fur against my tongue and teeth as it bucks against me in protest, still trying to wriggle free. Warm blood gushes into my mouth as my teeth clamp down harder, slicing deeper into the artery. I let the taste and heat fill my senses.

I start to drink, gulping mouthful after mouthful, feeling the smooth, rich liquid run down my throat and settle into my empty stomach. The elk's body gradually stops moving, its fierce bucks reduced now to feeble twitching, and as it does so, my mind starts to race with images of the day—the school hallways, the sneering faces, _his _resigned gaze as I put the shard to his throat. I clutch the animal closer to me. My eyes close. The wet snapping of bone fills the air.

I ignore the cold, the outside world, everything that has happened today, everything that has happened in the last year…and instead focus on the absence of the burn, the absence of the sharp, clenching pain in the pit of my stomach…the bliss in that absence; the bliss in the taste, not in the difference, the knowledge that there's something missing. The memory of what _real _blood tastes like…

When there's no more, when only congealed dregs remain in its veins, my lips part from the matted, blood-coated fur with a gasp. I tilt my head towards the moon-lit sky, panting in ecstasy, licking my lips, tasting the blood still smeared there and feeling it slowly dribble down my chin and neck and into my shirt. I let the elk's carcass slide from my arms and plop ominously onto the dirt. Meanwhile, the shards blink back into existence in the air around me, a weak, half-hearted greeting that serves to demonstrate that I'm not done yet. Far from done.

Exhaustion hits me at that moment. I lie down on the earthen floor, watching the icy breaths leaving my mouth fade into the air. I turn my head to look at the elk, its eyes orbs of glassy, dull black.

_It's just an animal, _I tell myself. Humans eat animals. What makes what I did any different?I shift to my side, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.

_What makes what you did any similar?_

I let out a growl, resting my cheek in the dirt. This is stupid. I'm wondering whether or not something I _have _to do is acceptable.

_If it's so acceptable, than why don't you go all the way? _the familiar voice asks venomously._ It's what you have to do, just like you said…_

"I don't have to kill people," I whisper to myself.

_No. Just maim. Injure, _the beast says sarcastically.

I look down at my shirt and jacket, now liberally stained with copious amounts of the elk's blood. My eyes follow a glistening streak down my shoulder, continuing on to my wrist and hand, then to my knuckles, where _his _blood still remains. I turn my hand over to look at the black paint on my palm instead.

In the moonlight, both stains look the same.

* * *

E-POV always worries me. Like I was telling my pre-reader and beta, too much angst, it becomes unreadable melodramamtic vomit, but too little angst, Edward becomes ooc, and with that in mind...

*hides behind makeshift shield/garbage can lid.*

Okay. Hit me with what you've got.


	11. Suffer all the children

**6/6/12**

Beta'd by Squeakyzorro and Kate

Pre-read by Kitty

Special thanks to Miaokuancha for her medical knowledge and availability for consultation.

*Because I cannot reveal certain things in review responses in order to keep the story's plot under wraps, and because this is a wip and certain things are subject to change, readers should only put 70% stock in any review response I give them. Meaning, that what I reveal is in the broadest sense the truth, but not in its entirety. Just to warn you all...

Okay. It's been a while, my apologies. RL's a bitch, and it's just about to get bitchier. See endnote for RL news. Anyway this is my longest chapter yet: 29 pages, in case you're all wondering. Also, teaser one didn't make the cut. :/ It was for the best, but one of you guessed correctly on the forums who the mystery speaker was in teaser 2 :)

Kudos.

RECAP:

*last chapter had a conversation between Carlisle and Edward, where Carlisle was able to shake Edward out of his emoness and take charge. Tony meanwhile has falen back into old habits and attacked a human in the middle of committing a crime. He heads into the forest for a bit to get some blood and brood. Meanwhile, the wolves are demanding a meeting with the vampires...

I'll be waiting in the wings for your response, trash can lid/shield in hand...

***6/12/12 **I've been told that this chapter is somewhat hard to follow. While I admit, I had a difficult time, just keep in mind that this story is in present tense, and that there are certain things the characters know that have't been spelt out for the reader yet. I do however apologize if the narrative seems a bit sloppy. Writers block is a real bitch...

* * *

B

The hole stares back at me.

It's circular, but rugged and misshapen at the edges. Several long cracks creep over the expanse of the wood, like the spindly, uneven legs of an abstract spider.

The hallway outside is quiet and empty. I know it without having to look through the hole. For once, despite the events of the day, luck seemed to be on our side. The old woman across from us has had her television turned all the way up since I arrived home, so there is little chance that she had heard or seen anything. The occupants on our side seem to be working late again, while the other two across from us, farther down, I know are on vacation. Very lucky indeed.

It was easy enough re-setting the door on its frame and cleaning up the debris. Nothing could be done about the hinges. The force of impact ripped them clean off the doorpost, but it's no matter. Flash a bit of money, apologize with the sweetest smile you can, and the landlord won't even blink. A broken door is hardly something to worry about.

_Broken doors can be replaced. Sons can't._

I shut my eyes, turning myself away from the door. I lean over the kitchen table, rubbing my face and clutching my mouth as I try to will that last thought away.

_No. Nothing is wrong. He's all right. He'll come home, he'll go to his room, and we won't talk for days, maybe months, but he'll be home. He'll be safe. It's ridiculous to be thinking like this now, like he's about to—_

"Bella?"

I gasp, a jolt of lightning running through my body, starting in my heart and ending at my fingertips and toes. I turn in my seat to face the door, still half expecting to see the pale beige wall of the outside hallway through the hole. Intense golden eyes meet me instead.

Carefully his hand pushes the wood away, just enough so he could squeeze through. Emotions play on his face, too fast for me to pinpoint. He doesn't move once he's inside. His eyes go to the hole in the door, then to the window, where the broken pieces of glass still remain. His head tilts towards the hallway, and that's when I know I don't need to tell him. If the door and window weren't indicative enough, the absence of Tony's mind is. Something new consumes Edward. It locks his jaw and forces him to turn around to re-secure the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, just as he slots the wood back into the frame.

"There's a situation." His hand pauses over the edges of the hole. He clenches his fist, comparing the shape of it to the shape of the damage.

"What do you mean?"

He continues with trying to block the doorway, and I feel that familiar sense of trepidation, that ominous sensation of my lungs and heart plummeting into my stomach and then being thrown back up into my throat. I grab the edge of the table for support. Finally, he turns around to face me.

"The pack is demanding a meeting. They feel…threatened by your sudden appearance."

Instead of uncoiling, the knots in the pit of my stomach twist harder. I look at him in confusion, unsure of what to say, what to make of this.

"I don't understand. I never even met any of them."

"I know. But Tony has. "

My eyes widen, recognition sparking in my brain. Edward's explanation from this afternoon of their present status replays in my mind. I look to him for confirmation and he gives it. My anger is triggered, and my anxiety is erased. I glare at him in outrage.

"Brent was the one Tony punched. Not Nathan." My grip imprints my fingertips into the table's wood. "Tony never even mentioned—"

"I know, but they don't care. The fact is, Nathan sounded the alarm."

He closes the space between us. Like before, his scent overwhelms my senses, and I have to swallow the venom that pools in my mouth. I look down at his shoes. Black leather. Undoubtedly a brand of high class and price. I let my mind wander, let myself shoot into a ridiculous tangent of wondering exactly how much Alice must have spent to complete her idea of the perfect ensemble for her brother. Was it business as usual? Or another feeble attempt at burying the sense of guilt she had supposedly harbored in abandoning her "best friend," as Edward had implied, when describing the poor state his family had been in since their departure?

"Do you know where he went?" he asks me softly, shaking me out of my errant thoughts. I can't bring myself to look at him. His report, this new information is still processing through my brain, generating conclusion after conclusion, until all I can feel is terror. Bit's of the information he provided earlier link together with the pack's present actions—if they're calling a meeting, then that means that all members are here, patrolling the area. It means they're mobilizing and preparing for a fight.

It means Prince Rupert and the surrounding area has just become a war zone and Tony is in the thick of it.

I've long stopped breathing. It takes all of my restraint to not let out the anguish building in my chest and to pulverize the already-destroyed door—to plunge into the night, find him, and drag him back home. He's out there somewhere with no idea of the danger. _He doesn't know._ Everything in me screams to tear this city apart and find him.

But I can't. And that's the real kicker. The real punch line. How many times has Tony told me how much waiting and hiding infuriates him? Watching the minutes tick by while knowing that despite all his super strength and senses, he can't do anything? And in the one instance I'm forced to finally see his point of view, he's the reason for it. The reason I'm fidgeting and aching to tear apart the city and take action in the first place.

I can't leave. Reni's steady breathing and heart rate is all the reminder I need.

My mind switches to autopilot. I can't just stand here idly. Not with Edward and his endless remorse and sorrow and scent surrounding me. And Tony's. It still lingers here, where we shouted and tried to sway the other in a mix of anger and desperation. I turn away from Edward, walking into the kitchen. I find the dustpan and broom, and before I know it, I'm on my knees under the window, sweeping the glass fragments into the plastic pan. I focus on each individual scratch that each piece of glass makes in the wood as my mind drifts back to more than a year ago.

_The airport terminal bustles with movement. Our seats face the windows, and beyond that, the drop-off area. Taxicabs and beaten-up rust wagons that would have put my red Chevy to shame deposit its occupants. A revolving door resides farther down to the right. A never-ending stampede of travelers pass us, self-absorbed and blissfully unaware: businessmen and women, tourists, well-wishers seeing loved ones off, loved ones receiving fidgeting relatives already annoyed with the humid climate. They don't matter. All that matters is the adolescent boy sitting to my left, staring stoically at the heavily waxed floor._

_I continue to stroke Reni's curls. Her eyes remain locked on the ceiling above us as she connects the tips of her fingers in rhythm with the song she hums under her breath. The humming is a good sign, but that parasitic fear keeps eating away at me, despite the reiterations of countless child psychology books passing through my mind. It's been a week and she has yet to say a word. Mental or verbal. Without shifting her too much I cradle her closer to me, until the right side of her face is against my stomach. Her gaze breaks away from the ceiling briefly to meet mine, puzzlement now her dominating expression. I smile down at her. She smiles back. The relief comes._

_But it doesn't last._

_All it takes for it to be washed away is the turning of my head to the sight beside me: the way he crosses his arms over his chest—the familiar mark of someone trying to hold it together—the faraway, desolate look in his eyes, but most of all… My eyes catch the small gap between our bodies on the seat, the handful of inches that separates us. His distance. His aversion to…contact—any form, be it physical or emotional. He won't talk to me. He won't let me in. It's been like this for days. First Reni, now Tony, and I don't know what to do, or even if I can do anything._

_It feels like I can't, like it's too late. Like we've reached some sort of proverbial crossroad, and there's no going back. Permanency and vampirism go hand in hand. From our mindsets to our appearances, we don't change. We don't revert back to who we were or evolve into something more…usually. _

_Love. Hate. Grief. They are still universally life-altering, even to us. But it can't be evoked when we're on our own. Strong emotion comes with interaction. It needs people to spark them. It's only logical—fire needs oxygen, plants need water, and people need people. Even eternal, we're social creatures, governed by the rules of social psychology. So shouldn't that be cause for relief? It means that there is still hope for us all. That despite our natures, there is potential for change. And Tony and Reni aren't even full vampires. Their emotional capacities aren't and can never be set in stone. Shouldn't that fact account for something?_

"_Talk to me." I try once again. His eyes narrow a fraction, still not breaking their staring contest with the floor. The desperation rises in my throat, threatening to escape in a scream of fury and hopelessness. Everything that has happened the last couple of weeks races through my mind over and over again, threatening to rob me of my vision and make my reality a constant replay of blood, screaming matches and destruction. _

_And he just sits there, staring at the floor, acting as if the world around him doesn't exist. _

I've failed him twice now. First in 2009, and again tonight. I recall it all—every fight, every bitter word exchanged between us, and every memory of a door being slammed shut as he walked away to fume. What happened in the elevator sticks out the most. I could have stopped him. I should have found a way to keep him here.

This is my fault.

"No, it isn't."

I'm too strung up to care when I started speaking aloud. Vaguely I'm aware of him pulling me up, the glass collected in the dustpan sliding out and clattering back to the floor. Even on the verge of breaking, I still don't trust myself to meet his gaze. The thread holding together my sanity and keeping my hysteria at bay is stretched at its tightest point. It crushes my chest, draining the air out of my lungs. I feel his hands on my shoulders. He repeats his words, and a wave of guilt crashes over me and nearly sends me over the edge.

"You don't know that," I croak to the second button on his shirt. "You don't know—"

"Yes…" he tilts my chin up so he can look at me straight in the face, his gaze intense, urging me to see… "I do." I still don't believe him. And he sees it. He swallows hard, not allowing me to look away.

"All of this was set in motion from the moment I decided to erase myself from your life, to take away your choice in all of this." I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me with a finger to my lips.

"What could you have done?"

"I don't know… something…anything but let him out of my sight."

Edward shakes his head. "But you did do something. You told him the truth. You told him what he had to hear." Without breaking eye contact, he taps his temple, sadness creeping into his expression. "He rarely strays from his chosen path. That much was clear."

"He's still out there," I mumble.

"And we'll find him," he says resolutely. I feel him take the dustpan and broom out of my hands. He moves at vampire speed, cleaning up the mess in a matter of seconds. He guides me back to the kitchen table, except this time he sits beside me.

"I need to ask you—I know, after everything, it's absurd for me to be asking this of you, especially so soon…"

I look up from my lap, immediately wary. He tentatively poses his question, and my wariness is replaced with confusion.

"W-what?"

"Will you both come with me?"

"Where?"

"My house."

My unease seems to make its way onto my face because he follows up by saying, "They'll leave you alone. You won't have to talk to them if you don't want to."

"And if I want to?"

The question tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. He watches me sadly, in understanding. I've spent too long holding everything in. Wondering why…asking myself why…

"They'll answer whatever you want to ask them."

My lips purse in disapproval, still not convinced.

"Why can't we stay here? The pack just wants to talk, right? What does it matter where we stay?"

"I don't trust them."

I don't give him an answer. He sighs, rubbing his jaw almost tiredly as he gets up and walks to the exposed window. He stuffs his hands down his pant pockets as he watches the alley outside.

"…There are already a couple of pack members staking out your building. They intend to enter in the next hour under the guise of making sure the humans aren't in danger."

I know what he's saying…but it doesn't make me any less hesitant. The facts are the facts. The Quileutes are looking for a reason to throw the truce they have with the Cullens out the window and engage in an all-out war. My son is nowhere to be found, and I have only the faintest idea where he might be. If we stay here, Tony will have somebody to return to.

If he returns.

_No. _I can't think like that. Of course he's going to come back. He had always returned, even after our worst fights.

_Almost always, _my brain reminds me.

But that time doesn't count. That time he didn't leave because of a fight…and I knew where he was. It's not the same. All of this…it's just too much to take in right now. He needs to come to terms with it all. And he can only do that on his own. In his own way…

But visions of another night months ago springs up in my mind-the cold, hard look in his eyes, the ruined T-shirt that hung off his wiry frame, weighed down by rainwater and blood.

_He'll fall back into old habits, if he hasn't already. He may even take it a step further._

But what if he doesn't? What if I'm wrong, and he's headed straight into the forest right after he left the building? It's plausible. It could have happened. I rise from my seat, intending to tell Edward "no." _They'll have no reason to hurt him. And he'll come back on his own, _I tell myself._ I have to wait for him._ I start to approach Edward, already reciting in my mind what I want to say…

Until my eyes find the hole in the door again.

It stares back at me, cracks and all. A reminder of my son's inability to cope with what he's just realized, to come to terms with the future that has been re-written for us. An expression of his outrage and contempt. And suddenly, I know that whatever I hope he has or hasn't done is nothing more than my denial trying to worm its way into my psyche once again. Hope is a tricky creature. Two-faced and tantalizing. It can hide and resurface at our most desperate hour, either to be our godsend or a cruel joke from below…

I've already heard my share of jokes. I don't need to hear anymore.

There is no way, after what happened today, that he would be capable of holding onto his reason once he left that elevator. Or at least, the majority of his reason. He would've had enough sense to stay hidden. Be inconspicuous. Keep the secret. I go through the two options in my head again. If we stay, he will have us to return to. It will be a message to him that there is something he can count on in his already unstable world—that we will be here in the same place he left us in order to chase away the demons that have begun to wage war inside of him. Left us to douse the burn in his throat and psyche with animal blood and brutality; in the forest, and in the city—where a victim's scream can go unheard.

In the city…

Where outraged, degraded shape shifters run free and seek vengeance for the brothers they have already lost, who will surely lock onto a peculiar halfling fresh from his hunt, follow him home, and try to achieve the retribution they have been denied for so long that it will have wiped all reason from their minds, just as my own son's fire at my choice erased his. Regardless of our setting. Regardless of the oblivious humans surrounding us.

If we stay here, we'll run the risk of exposure.

If we leave, Tony won't linger when he returns. He'll track us to wherever Edward's home is, regardless of how he feels towards him. Towards all of them. The wolves will not be able to attack, not with so many vampires in one place. We'll be on the Cullens' turf, where no one will need to worry about revealing themselves to any bystanders. We can have some sort of control over the situation.

He'll be safe. And so will we.

"How long?" I ask faintly, my mind already made up.

"A night. Maybe two."

I nod once then walk out of the living room and into the hallway, stopping at the closet. I open the door, grabbing the lone black duffle bag tucked into the corner of the top shelf. I check to see if the contents are still in there: a medium-sized funnel, a square, plastic jug that can hold up to a gallon of liquid, a black thermos, and of course the hunting knife. Seeing everything is still in adequate condition, I zip up the bag and head into Tony's room.

* * *

"Carlisle wants to do a checkup on Reni."

I look at him in surprise. He continues, "The seizures you described are troubling, but he won't do anything without your permission."

"And you? What do you make of this?"

"I agree with him."

I say nothing as the doors ping open, and we step out into the lobby, ignoring the puzzled stare the doorman gives us as we exit the building. Reni cuddles closer as she feels the cool wind wash over us, and for a moment I think that she's going to wake up. A new, terrifying thought takes me as I consider how likely that is to happen right now. She's been asleep for a couple of hours. She should be waking up by now.

How am I supposed to explain this to her?

She was frightened enough during the scene in the hallway, hiding behind her mess of hair, shrinking into herself, pretending to be invisible. Has Tony already told her? And if he has, how much? Has she put it together herself? She saw him with her own eyes…but the way I made it sound to her over the years, the vague comments, the reassurances, all because of my weakness…

I should have told them from the beginning.

For the moment, my fear is unneeded. She's still sound asleep as I slide us into the passenger seat of Edward's car, parked across the street. I don't even notice the model as he places the bag in the back seat and quietly shuts the door. We maintain our silence as he starts up the engine and drives us out of the city.

Edward's request resurfaces. A checkup. For Reni. Maybe I can finally get some answers. Nahuel said hybrids were incapable of getting sick, that natural diseases would never affect them because of their immune systems and healing capabilities…

But Nahuel hasn't seen it all.

Reni's case was already something out of our combined ballpark's, and what happened with Tony… I can still smell the splintered, demolished trees, the smoke, the fresh blood and opened flesh.

I stop myself before the images can return. I can't think of that. It's all there, from the shape of the gash to the way he convulsed as I cradled him in my arms and watched him slip away…But I don't need to think about it. I don't have to picture it. I refuse.

I give him an answer just as his house comes into view.

"Tony, too."

* * *

R

My eyes open. It's dark, but I can still see the shifty wall of blanket in front of me. It's so warm inside, so soft…and clean-smelling. That's funny. Laundry day isn't until Wednesday. I push the blankets away. They're heavy and soft, but I'm not sleepy anymore, and I really need to go potty.

That's when I notice something's off.

I reach at the sides of the bed, trying to find a lamp. There isn't one on the right, but there is on the left. I have to rub my eyes a bit more after I turn it on. The carpets are thick and match the blankets. There's a huge, light brown chest of drawers right in front of the bed. Its corners are curved and fancy-looking, like the ones in the shop me and Momma passed a long time ago in Cherryville.

Where am I? This isn't my room.

On the chest of drawers left is a door that's not closed all the way. A bit of light peeks from the cracks. I try to listen as hard as I can, but I can't hear anything clearly. There's a painting on my left of a house beside a pond. It's pretty, but not like Tony's pictures. I still think his are better.

Speaking of Tony…

_He puts me on the couch. The leather is cold; it's all I can feel. I can't really hear him. Well, no, that's not true. I can hear him, it's just that I can't understand what he's saying, like he's talking in a different language. But he's scared. I can tell he's scared._

_I don't want him to be scared._

_Sometimes I can see his face. Not always. It flickers in and out, mixing with Otto's face and making me dizzy. They really do look different. Tony's thinner and has white skin. Otto is fatter and shorter with dark skin. Darker than Miri or Nahuel or Huilen's. _

_And then it stops. There's darkness—no more faces. I'm so tired; all I want to do is sleep, but at the same time, I feel so sick. My tummy feels icky, and my throat is dry. So thirsty. I swallow, but there's nothing _to_ swallow. I think I tell Tony because the next thing I know, I'm in his arms again, and it's not so dark anymore. My eyes are still shut, but I can tell it's bright wherever we are. Still, I don't fight it. I let my head rest on his shoulder. I know it's his shoulder 'cause of his scent and his school shirt; it's smooth against my cheek. He opens something that makes me cold—a door? Maybe the fridge—and takes something out. More noises, buzzing, and then a ding._

_We're sitting now, me on his lap, one of his arms holding me, letting me lie against him, while the other holds something hard to my mouth. I'm still dizzy, and my eyes are still closed. Whatever's he's holding to my mouth is warm and making my nose wet. _

_I finally let in whatever it is he's trying to get past my lips. Warm, soft, creamy liquid starts to run down my throat. Milk. Warm milk, I realize. It's so good, and it makes my tummy feel better. Even the dizziness is starting to go away. Not the sleepiness, though. That just seems to get stronger. _

_I finish, licking my lips and rubbing my eyes with my fists. It really is too bright in here. I turn around, blinking a lot, to look up at him. Tony's face. Just his face. I sigh, relieved. I curl up closer to him. He hugs me back. We stay there for a long time until the lights go out. That's when he carries me to my room. He helps me dress because my hands are still shaky, and I'm already starting to fall back to sleep. But I don't want him to leave yet. I don't want to be alone. _

_I'm already in bed, under the covers. He's sitting on the floor again, hugging his knees. Maybe I told him not to leave yet? I don't know, the sleepiness is starting to take over. Tony says something. I almost miss it as I drift away._

"_I'm sorry." _

Just remembering it all, the school, how angry he was, makes the room not cozy anymore. I get out of bed, shivering from the cold, my socked toes curling into the carpet. I walk around, passing the chest of drawers. The first door is just an empty closet, but the second one is a bathroom. I have to go on my tip-toes just to the turn on the light. Everything is shiny and clean-looking and smells like vanilla. I don't want to have an accident again, so I close the door and go potty.

Once I'm done, I head for the third door, the one not closed all the way. Bradley's on the bit of carpet nearest the nightstand with the lamp, so I pick him up as I leave. He must be cold…I hug him to me as I open the door, twisting his red-orange mane. Tony has to be around here. He'll tell me what's happened. Momma too, but before I can walk any further, I fall to the ground, my other hand grabbing at the carpet, eyes locked at the closed doors.

So many _feelings_!

It's not like the bad places that Tony and Momma won't let me go into. I'm not scared at all, but it's just so much! And the…flickers. Yes, that's what they are, because they're not really ghosts, but not actually real. Well, the ones in the hallway aren't real. They move like when Tony presses the fast forward button on the remote, and they flicker like those old black-and-white movies Tony showed me on YouTube. The ones where the camera was shaky and there was no sound.

I've seen lot's of human flickers. Most of them are boring, so I end up ignoring them. It's only when I really concentrate that I can see them, but I don't really do that anymore 'cause Momma said I might see something I'm not supposed to see. Momma and Tony don't blame me when it comes to the bad visions that make me fall asleep or feel scared, though. I've never seen a bad one. Not completely. Momma and Tony always took them from me before I could, like with Otto.

I wish they wouldn't.

They always get quiet for a long time whenever they do it. Especially Tony. Angry too, but he won't admit it.

I try to stare harder at the flickers. I recognize the scary blond lady. She always walks into a room farther across from me with the big man. He makes her smile a lot, and she's a lot prettier when she smiles. I try to reach out and feel the feelings from their room, but then stop—I'm getting that weird, fluttery feeling again. It's kind of like when Tony was watching Animal Planet on the computer. That same fluttery feeling was in the computer spot when I checked it after he left.

There are two other couples' too. The blond man and the lady with honey hair, and the tiny lady and the man with the scars. I can tell that their rooms aren't on this floor. They never stick around for very long in the rooms they go into. It's only the blond lady and the big man that hang around here a lot.

I walk farther down the hall, the flickers passing through me like ghosts. They don't scare me. They're not really ghosts. You have to be dead to be a ghost…

Wait a minute. I stop walking and look at the flickers again.

If they're all vampires, then that means they _are_ dead. So wouldn't that mean...I look at the flickers again, and I shiver, feeling more scared by the second. Does this mean I'm actually seeing their ghosts, too?

I have to find Tony.

I start running down the hallway, passing more pretty pictures. The bars of the stair railing is just ahead, and I can hear Momma's voice! She's too far away for me to hear her words, but once I get to the stairs, I should. She'll tell me what's going on. And where Tony is. Maybe she'll even tell me who that bronze-haired man is. What did Tony call him?

_Edward._

The answer pops into my head right as I make it to the top of the stairs. I start to take a step down when I hear their words clearly, for the first time. Another lady is talking now.

"Is there no hope?"

I pause, sitting down so I can listen.

"I don't know," Momma says. Instantly I know something is wrong. She's talking in her sad voice again. She hasn't done that in a while. "It's…complicated. I don't even know if that's an option for me at his point."

"He loves you," someone else says.

"I know."

"And I know you still love him."

It takes a long time for Momma to answer. For some reason, it makes my skin feel crawly.

"That's the problem."

I'm even more confused. Are they talking about Tony? He's the only "he" that Momma loves in her life. Why would that be a problem? I don't feel like talking to her anymore. At least not right now. I get up from the step I'm sitting on and walk back up the stairs.

Tony has to be around here somewhere.

I finally take a good look around. This house is really _big._ I'm at the top of the stairs. The entire downstairs is open to me, like one giant pool and I'm at the diving board. I spy the comfy-looking couches and chairs, a fireplace, computers along one wall… The space is so open. And there are so many pretty things filling it.

The level where I'm at is wide open, too. The railing goes all around, making it so someone can look down into the downstairs, almost like on giant balcony from a princesses castle. There are two other hallways besides the one I just came from: one on the left and one on the right. I start to walk towards the one on the left; it looks like a good place to start…

More pictures. This time of the vampires in funny clothing. I recognize the blond man in one of them. His mate, I think—the one with the honey hair—is curled by his side, holding onto his arm. She looks much much happier than how her flickers look today. Further down are more pictures, this time with Edward. He's wearing the same kind of suit as the blond man. It's when I get closer to the corner that another surge of feeling hits me. Hard. It's even stronger than what I felt in the first hallway. And completely different.

Sadness. Loneliness.

More things I don't know the name of, but it's not good. It's weird, but it's kind of like how Tony's room always used to feel. Not nearly as sad, but…like the feeling here, there was this…this feeling of…

Oh, I don't know! I feel my face become pouty. I hate it when I don't know the right word! Tony and Momma know lots more words, and Miri would always play that strange word game with Tony whenever they were together. I let out another huff, thinking hard, searching, searching…

It's…_tangled. _No,that's not quite right. There's probably a better word for it, but until I know it that will have to do. Tangled, like a ball of string. I keep walking towards it, coming closer to the corner. If it feels like Tony's old room, then maybe that means he's there. When I finally turn, I'm expecting to see more doors, maybe more pictures.

I see one door and one flicker instead: Edward's.

I can tell it's a flicker and not the real Edward. Even though he is walking away from me and towards the door at the end of this hallway, he still looks see-through. And whenever I psst to him, he doesn't turn at all. Just like a ghost, he disappears through the door.

Sometimes the tiny lady's flicker appears, trying to get flicker Edward to come out of his room, but he never does, and she always leaves, sometimes angry, sometimes disappointed. More time passes, so I sit down on the carpet criss-cross applesauce to watch what I can.

Even though Tiny Lady can never get him to come out, he always does on his own, when no one is trying. I almost wish he didn't and just stayed in his room. Tony used a word once to describe someone who was worse than sad. He said it was for people who didn't know how to be happy anymore because they were sad for too long: depressed.

Edward looked depressed.

The few times he left his room, his eyes were black and glassy. His clothes were wrinkled, and they never changed; I even started to see the dirt building in the edges of his shirt and bottoms of his jeans. When I can't take it anymore, I get up and walk up to his door. I press my ear to the wood.

Nothing.

No heartbeat, no footsteps. I turn the knob and push the door open. Along with a closet door, there's a black leather couch against the wall on my left. I touch it with my fingertips: cold. The back wall is made of glass, but it's half-blocked by a stiff, navy-blue curtain. The right wall is completely taken up by a black, wooden bookcase, filled all the way up with books, CD's, big, square flat things, and even a shiny new iPod stereo in the middle.

Finally, on the same wall where the door is sits a simple wooden table that he must use as a desk. I step into the middle of the room, turning around. Everything is neat: no clothes on the floor, no trash , not like Tony's room, but there's so much dust, it makes me want to sneeze. It coats the table, the bookshelf, the curtains, it's even on the couch, where his flicker is, lying down, eyes staring up at the ceiling. It's…creepy. Not right. I back away from him, even though a part of me reminds myself that he's not real, but just the way he's so still with his eyes open…It makes my insides cold.

I don't stay in there any longer once I've seen the whole room. Tony's not in there, so there's no point. Actually, once I'm not scared anymore, I'm kind of annoyed. I don't want to go all the way to the other hallway and try to find him. Maybe I should just go downstairs to Momma. I turn the corner. Or try calling him. That could work. He would hear me…

But even though I think it, I know I won't do it. This house is strange. I don't want to make noise; the other vampires might hear me and come instead.

"It kind of makes sense, if you think about it."

I stop in my tracks, my heart jumping in my chest. I watch the mouth of the hallway, and I can see shadows. They're getting bigger, which means….

I whirl around in a panic, trying to find a place to hide. There's no time to pick a safe place, so I just burst right into the nearest door on my right. I close it just as I hear the man who was talking, and I think another one, coming closer.

This room is better, much better than Edward's. It's bigger and brighter and cleaner, with colorful carpet on the floor and lots of squishy-looking armchairs. But that's not all. I know Momma would love it in here. The walls are completely covered with bookshelves. There's even a ladder for the higher books. Also, in front of me, towards the back of the room, is a big, fancy, wooden desk with a shiny new laptop on top.

Remembering that big desks like that always have space inside it for the chair, I run towards it, crawling inside. It's just my size. I hug my knees closer to me, curling into a ball as I hear them stop.

"Do you hear that?"

"Keep quiet," someone else snaps. They don't talk for a while.

I close my eyes tight. Maybe they'll go away if I'm quiet enough. Yes, that should work. I'll just pretend I'm not here, and they'll lose interest and go away. Like when you're supposed to play dead if you meet a bear in the woods…Come to think of it, that doesn't make much sense. Tony meets lots of bears in the forest whenever we're out hunting, and he never pretends he's dead. Maybe it's just one of those things that's only for humans. I turn to ask Bradley—

—only to find that he's not with me.

A small, worried sound comes out of my mouth before I can stop myself, my hands shaking as I turn around where I sit and try to see if maybe I stuffed him in the corner of the space before I crawled inside. The space is empty. He's not here. _He's not here._

"Go back downstairs. I'll meet you there shortly."

I feel my eyes become hot and wet. I'm getting more scared by the second. I curl into a tighter ball. Where did I leave him? I _need _him! I take him everywhere with me! What am I going to tell Momma? She gave me Bradley—she'll be sooo mad! I hug my knees tighter, sniffling louder than I should have, and by the time I notice how loud, it's too late—I hear the door opening and footsteps walking in.

Lots of panicky thoughts crash around in my brain now. I didn't think before—what if the other vampires don't like me like the blond lady? What if I wasn't even supposed to be exploring? I didn't ask permission or anything! Ohhhh, I must be in so much trouble!

"You're not in trouble."

The voice startles me enough for me to raise my head. Edward is crouched down in front of me, staring. I just stare back for a bit, I can't help it. We really _do _look alike. Except he's a boy. And his hair isn't curly…and his eyes are gold, not brown. But everything else on his face is like mine. He's not wearing the same clothes as his flickers. He must have changed them…

He still looks sad, though.

The staring starts to make me uncomfortable. Momma and Tony said to never talk to strangers, so that's what I'm going to do. I hide my face again, trying to pretend he's not there.

But is he a stranger? I know his name. And Momma and Tony seem to know him… Why _do_ they call it "stranger" anyway? There's nothing strange looking about him...except for being a vampire, but that's not really the same. He does act kind of strange with how he never does anything when he's in his room. And what he just said, too, that was strange. How did he know I was scared? I didn't say anything—"

"Because I can read minds," he says.

I feel my eyes widen. I raise my head to look up at him. He looks serious. I test him, to see if he's not lying. I think of a color—red—and then ask him if he can see what color I'm thinking of. He answers right. Momma said the vampire police had someone who could read minds too. Not like Nahuel. He can only get hunches.

_Maybe Edward was the vampire Nahuel was talking about._

"No."

He's upset now. Momma looks the same way whenever Tony's late coming home. He scoots closer, and I try to back further into the space. He stops when he sees that, then grabs a handful of hair on his head and thinks really hard before answering.

"No. I'm not the vampire you're thinking of. His name is Aro. I'm Edward, I'm—" It looks like he's lost his voice. A couple of seconds pass before he gives up on what he was about to say and swallows hard.

"We're not with the Volturi. We're the Olympic coven. There are seven of us."

_The Olympic coven, _I repeat in my mind. Everything starts to make sense. Huilen said that all vampires have money since they can steal it and put it in banks to make more of it. Covens must need more of it since there are more of them traveling together.

But we're in a house. Momma, me, Tony, and the Volturi are the only ones who have a real home…right?

"This is our house…we're vegetarians." He touches his eyes, which I just realize are golden, like Momma's. "Like you." I stare at him in wonder. I thought me, Tony, and Momma were the only vegetarians. Miri was too, but I don't know about now. She might have gone back to drinking humans once we were gone.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," he adds, after a while. He looks to the side and picks something up, and I gasp again when he shows it to me.

"Bradley!" He hands him to me, and I take him even though something in the back of my mind tells me I shouldn't take things from strangers. I don't care. I search Bradley, trying to see if he's okay. When it seems like he is, I hug him as hard as I can, rubbing my face against his mane, letting out a relieved sigh.

"Your mother's downstairs in the kitchen. Would you like to see her?" he asks me. I nod, letting him help me out of my hiding place.

I look at him from time to time as we walk down the hallway. He's tall. Not as tall as the big man, but tall and…and lean. Like Tony. Well, Tony's shorter than him, but Momma's always saying that he's not done growing yet.

"Does Tony grow fast a lot?"

I forgot he could read minds. I peek at him from the corner of my eye as we start going down the stairs. I'm still not sure if I should talk to him. Momma and Tony seem to know him, but I don't. And he is kind of strange with how he never does anything and looks sad and dirty all the time. I wonder how long, in that flicker I saw, he went without taking a bath. Do vampires even need to take baths? Momma does just as much as Tony and me, and I know _we _have to take a bath, or we'll stink, but Momma has never smelled bad. And there was that time we couldn't shower for three days at Nahuel's house 'cause the pipes were broken, and Momma didn't smell any different. Tony did, though. And Miri too. It's a good thing they didn't choose that week to play mud war….

"It all right," he tells me, as we're walking down the stairs. "You don't have to talk if you're uncomfortable. You're right…I am a stranger to you."

My shoulders relax. Once we've made it down I tune in to Momma's voice again. I really do need to ask her what's going on. Her voice is coming from a room on my left with bright lights and tiled floor—the kitchen? I don't ask Edward out loud. I just go straight to the doorway without thinking. Momma's there, but she's not alone. Tiny Lady is leaning against one of the counters, and the lady with the honey hair is on the left, sitting across from Momma.

And they're all staring.

I zip up to Momma extra fast, climbing into her lap and hiding my face in her hair. Bradley's squished between us. I feel their eyes on me, and I don't like it. Not one bit. _What's going on? _I ask her, my chin touching the skin on her shoulder. _Why are we here? _She hugs me back, telling me in her head to be patient.

"Carlisle, Jasper and Rosalie are going to head off Sam Uley. That should buy some time while Emmett, Alice and I try to locate Tony," Edward says all of a sudden from behind us.

_Who's Sam Uley? And why do they have to find Tony? What's going on?_

Something's wrong. Really really wrong. I lean back a little so I can look at her face. She looks stressed. Her eyes are wide, and it looks like she's about to cry. Her hand goes to the back of my head and pushes me down so my chin is resting on her shoulder again. It stays there for a long time, her fingers stroking my hair, but it doesn't help.

_Where's Tony?_

The phone rings. After a while, the blond man comes in and talks extra fast, and from where I'm at, I see Edward getting angry. More people come in and out of the kitchen— the pretty one, the scarred one, but I try to hide from them. All of the noise is too much. Everything is happening too fast, too much like when Tony had to leave the first time. Did he leave again? Is that why I couldn't find him? Is he hurt?

I can't take it anymore. I scream my question in my head, trying again to get Momma's attention. It works. She flinches, and the hand cradling my head cradles it harder. She still doesn't say anything to me, though, so my throat gets heavy and I feel the tears start to build. I lean back a little to rub my eyes. Because of that, I almost miss the feel of her hand moving down, covering the back of my neck.

I gasp, my hands falling limp as she opens her mind to me.

* * *

T

_2009, three days before departure._

Blues. Greens. Reds. Bright, shining golds. They make a gentle tinkling sound as I sift through them, grabbing handful after handful, slowly emptying the small space. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings, key chains, but that's not all. Pieces of odd-shaped metal, old-school bottle caps, things that mean nothing and that I can't remember taking. But they're all shiny. They all glow in their own way. I had to have them.

And now I'm giving them up.

"You're still here."

I ignore him as I set the floorboard back in place. I rattle the bag, shaking the contents inside so I could see them all one last time. The blue necklace isn't in here. Miri must still have it. I zip up the top.

She can keep it.

"I would have thought you and your family would be halfway to the States by now."

My teeth clench, but I stop myself before the pain in my head starts. I let out an impatient huff as I collect everything and push myself to my feet. I turn around, only to find him blocking my way out, leaning against the doorway as he inspects his fingernails.

"Move," I say.

"Make me," he responds, bored.

I growl, turning on my heel, crossing the small room to get to the window. I toss the now-full bag onto the lawn below. It makes a satisfying scrunch sound as it hits the grass, rolling to its side before coming to a stop.

"Tell your mother I expect to see her soon."

"Fuck off," I say under my breath, as I prepare to jump.

Suddenly, I can't breathe. I feel his arm around my throat, his chokehold lifting me off the floor. All I can kick is air. The pain in my head erupts, and my mouth opens to cry out, but there's no air to do it. I struggle. I claw at his arms, trying to will the shards to return, but they don't. They won't come back.

Just like in the field, I'm on my own.

"Oh, so now you're a tough guy, huh?" he grunts, as he tightens the lock he has me in. The dull whitewash ceiling blurs. The pain in my head gets sharper, and from my haze I can barely pick up his words.

"Should have—trouble from the beginning—never again—teach you a—lesson."

An unseen force splits us apart and knocks us into opposite walls, the house shaking from the impact, plaster from the ceiling drifting to the floor. My eyes catch a glimpse of green floating in between us as I try to slide myself up, leaning on the dented wall for support, when suddenly I feel his hands on my collar.

I snarl, pushing him away, throwing all my body weight into the action. In the time it takes for him to crash back into the opposite wall, I feel the familiar energy around my hand, and without thinking, I grasp the shard that has chosen to materialize and help me. I whip it out as he regains his footing.

He can't see it. No one can, except me. But he knows it's there. I told him enough about it. We circle each other as though this is just another day, another sparring match between us—him spewing about how to attack and me trying to keep up. Our chests heave from the struggle we just had. His black hair is messy, and his sweat makes it stick to his forehead. His clothes are rumpled. I know I must look the same.

"Go ahead," he whispers, eyes dull and unblinking—corpse eyes. "Carve me up nice. Miri needs all the practice she can get."

My palms sweat. A violent chill runs down my spine. I grip the shard harder, ignoring the sharp blade digging into my flesh and drawing my blood.

"You can't do it, can you?" he asks softly as we keep walking around each other. I breathe faster. My hand begins to shake. "No, of course you can't. You're weak…just like your mother."

"Shut up!" I snarl.

His words stir up the memory of what happened before they arrived. It still burns, hits me in places I'm not expecting…but he's wrong.

I know he's wrong.

"_It will only be on sunny days," he promises. "You said you wanted him to have more sympathy for the humans. How can he learn to do that if he never interacts with them?"_

"_What about Joham?" she asks. She's still sounds stern, but there's a weakness in her tone. I think he's wearing her down. "You said that he—"_

"_He's half-way around the world! I told you, he's too busy to deal with us right now. We're safe." _

"_I don't know…"_

"_It'll be fine…you know I won't let anything happen to him… He needs this. You can only do so much. Some things…can only be learned from certain people. It's just a trip to the marketplace every once in a while, Bella. Relax."_

I know what he is.

"_The vampires…they reap their sorrow over the loss of their humanity, go on about the never ending thirst and having to come to terms with what they are…of being the personifications of absolute power, invincibility and evil…But they know nothing. They don't know the pain of being caught in-between…."_

I know his tricks.

"…_not like us." He looks down at me and I stare back, captivated. "Beings like us need to stick together."_

I know it was all a lie.

"_You're nothing without us."_

I know…

_The boulder explodes. As I shield my face from the stray gravel, I hear his roar of approval and my hearts feels like it's expanding in my chest. I can't hide the smirk that stretches across my face._

"She's strong. Stronger than you."

He smiles at my words, but it's not a real smile. Not remotely. The hollow, imitation…_thing_ on his face isn't something I can stand to look at, yet I do anyway. I want to chuck the shard at him, right between the eyes…and never have to see his face morph into that expression again.

"She's weak," he says softly. "Nothing more than a lamb cast in iron. She can't stand on her own; she's crippled. Even you must see that." His face darkens. "No, she'll always need a crutch…a shepherd she can look to for guidance and shelter."

"She figured out how to save us all, how to deliver us without anyone else's help."

"And put you all in jeopardy because she couldn't handle raising you both on her own," he retorts. "Don't forget. She sought _us _out, walked right into my open arms—"

"And then rejected you."

All emotion is wiped from his face. My free hand goes to the side of my head to feel the scar hidden by my hair…I can still hear Miri's scream.

I'm not blind. Not like before. He must know that by now…after everything that has happened.I lean in closer, locking eyes with him, still pointing the shard, relishing the effect my words are having.

"She saw you for what you are and will never look back. You'll always be alone."

His expression hardens. He stops walking. I notice that I'm closest to the door, so I take my chance and leave. The shard disintegrates once I pass under the doorpost, the cut on my hand already sealing into a scar. I wipe the blood on my jeans as I walk down the stairs. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, making me feel the effects of our fight: the tiredness, the aches, the dizzy, unfocused feeling like I'm dehydrated. My drooping eyes go to the shadows playing on the railings. The sun is nearly down. Twilight is just beginning.

I'm so dead.

Even if I hurry, I won't make it back to the hotel by sundown. And Mom must know by now that I'm gone. She must be pissed…but I had to. It wasn't for a bad reason. She has to see that it was different this time. This time I was trying to help…

Regardless, that doesn't seem to help with the familiar pounding in my head. I close my eyes tight as I make it to the foot of the stairs, feeling my body sway. I grab the stair railing behind me, trying to steady myself.

_No. Not now. Don't do this now._

I let my lungs fill to the brim slowly, trying to relax my mind. The pain lessons. I start again towards the door, each inhale I take feeling like the difference between accomplishment and failure.

"She walked away from me…but not from your father."

I stop.

Every instinct in me tells me to just keep walking. Ignore him. Remember that he's talking out of his ass. Everything I know from before tells me I should leave. And like before, despite knowing all this, I don't move.

"She can't stand to be without him. It eats away at her. Every day a little bit more of her dies."

I listen to his steps as he walks down the stairs, turning around just in time to catch his shadowed form reach the floor. Silence stretches between us, the faint light of the day moving steadily along the wall.

"One day, it'll become too much. She'll start to look for him, she'll ask around, she'll try to track him. And if he's not already ash, she'll succeed."

"Honing your inner poet?" I mutter sardonically, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. His eyes follow the way my arm shakes at the action. Anger flares in me, but it's short-lived with the increased pounding in my head. I try to let all emotion go, the anger, the betrayal, the annoyance…and the fear, but it's hard to do it with him staring at me like that—seeing more than I want him to.

Seeing through me.

"I'm simply stating the truth."

"You're simply talking out of your ass—"

"She's broken," he cuts in. He takes his first step towards me, stopping when he sees that I'm backing closer to the door. "You're not a fool. I know you've seen it as well. The way she holds herself, how some days she can't bring herself to leave the house to hunt, how she can't even bear to utter his name. It's nature taking its course. We're all self-preserving creatures. Our actions are always driven in some way to protect, to _save_ ourselves. And if finding him will accomplish that…" I feel my back hitting the wood of the front door. My heart beats erratically, and every part of me is screaming "no" to his words, to his prophesized future…while a tiny part whispers "yes". But it's minuscule. I can smother it. Make sure it won't grow.

And it _won't._

"It's only a matter of time. She can only live so long without resolution." I blink, and he's closer, only feet away. My head spins while he goes on in a mocking, dispassionate tone, "She'll be so thrilled…she'll do anything, give up anything to get him back. To keep him tethered to her—"

"You're wrong."

"Am I?" he asks sarcastically. "I know as much about him as you do, and yet even _I_ can see how much of a hold he had on her. She adores him, and that won't change, no matter how much time passes."

"You don't know anything," I mutter, done with all of this. I turn my back on him and open the front door, only for it to slam shut in my face. I blink rapidly, eyes quickly finding his hand just inches above my head, pressed firmly over the wood. He looks down at me in cold contempt, before focusing on his hand. A prickle of fear makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, mingling with my headache.

"I know…that despite her having every right to hate him for what he put her through, she still yearns for his touch."

An unconscious hiss escapes my mouth before I can stop it. He just continues on, talking to the wood, like I'm not there.

"It took my father years to perfect his technique, and even now he never completely reveals what he is exactly to his consorts. But your mother…" His eyes dart to mine, loathing making his nostrils flare. "Your father told her everything, and she still chose him. Unconditionally and unequivocally."

I say nothing.

"Do you know how uncommon it is for human-vampire relationships to survive past an initial meeting?" he goes on, his gaze becoming intense. "For the human to stick around willingly after the revelation? Do you have _any _idea how rare that kind of devotion is amongst humans?" He chuckles, closing his eyes, shaking his head.

"What are you—"

"Use your brain," he says through clenched teeth, eyes still closed. He's…seething. I don't want to know what he's imagining. "Men like your father…they all crave the same thing: sex and novelty. All the better if they can combine the two—"

"My mother is not a _thing_."

His eyes pop open, regarding me almost innocently. Shocked at my words. But I see past it.

"…Of course not. We're talking about your father, aren't we?"

"No. We're talking about _your_ father."

His face re-hardens as he scoffs, removing his hand from the wood and turning so now his back is against the door, effectively cutting off my exit. He crosses his arms over his chest, staring down at me coolly as I consider how he subtly took my place against the door, forcing me to face him head on, where he stood only moments before.

No coincidence.

"Your father, my father, what's the difference? In the end they committed the same sin, used our mothers like whores for their own enjoyment and agenda and left them to die, broken and mutilated beyond repair. If there _is _any difference whatsoever, it's that your father was too much of an imbecile to terminate his arrangement adequately."

I try to concentrate, try to bring back the shards. The dizziness returns instead.

"For whatever reason, she caught your father's eye once, just for being who she was: a normal, boring, love-stricken, foolish girl. Can you imagine the stir she will bring once her status is known in our world? The only mortal survivor of a hybrid birth in vampire-human history. Her very existence is a novelty waiting to be claimed…"

He pushes himself off the door so he can lean down towards me, our faces in line with each other, noses inches apart. Green irises to dark brown. The heat of his breath on my face makes me recoil and start to back away, but he follows me, not letting me out of his sight.

"He'll take her from the both of you," he whispers, and not even the knowledge of his lies can stop the dread from blossoming in me. My heels hit the beginning of the stairs, forcing me to come to a stop. "No one, not even the fool that is your father, would turn down such a prize, and when that happens, where will that leave you and your sister?"

_I'll always be here. Nothing will ever take me away from the both of you._

"That's never going to happen," I manage to get out, despite the doubt wrapping its tendrils around my throat. "None of it. She loves us. She would never…She could never—"

"He tired of her humanity when enough time passed," he interrupts scathingly. I growl at how close he's come, but it does nothing to stop his words. "She was nothing then. Do you honestly believe that when they meet again she'll pass up the opportunity to be adored? Loved? To go from a nameless peasant to a queen? Or that _he'll_ want the fruits of his disgusting fetish trolling around, reminding everyone of his perversion? No. He'll ache for her, but she'll bow to him, because in the end, no matter how impenetrable her skin has become, no matter how golden her eyes have stayed, she'll still be that same, awkward seventeen year-old who blindly swore her allegiance to a monster."

"No, she won't."

"You don't know her—"

"And you do?" I spit. It all simmers beneath my skin, traveling up my veins and into my head, where it bangs against the inside of my skull again and again. I bite back a groan, clenching my teeth, glaring down at the floor. He's so pleased with himself, I can feel it.

"You're honestly claiming that card?" I say to the floor in a low voice. "Like you're some all-knowing, all-seeing—"

"I know more than you will _ever _know about her!" he snarls, grabbing my arm. I rip it out of his grasp, turning away. "She's told me things that you can't possibly imagine. Priceless details that are worth more than the rarest of stones."

"Fuck you," I mutter, as needles burrow into my temples. I catch the railing of the stairs to my left.

"Always sacrificing. From her childhood to her teen years, when she should have been having fun and making mistakes…a parent to her parents, nameless and un-extraordinary…and then he entered her life. Suddenly there was someone who could take care of her, who noticed her. Let her relax. Who better a caretaker, a protector, than an immortal?"

My grip on the railing tightens until a splitting crack reaches my ears. I start to clench my teeth instead, but that only makes the pain worse. Words, words, words. I'd give anything for him to shut up.

"Her deepest, most desperate desire of her heart, finally within reach. Undying love and an eternity to experience it. Wholesome and true. Nothing like the joke of her parent's union. No fear of one abandoning the other because the going got tough, no fear of love that faded with time. No, of course not. If she could feel so much for him, if she could already be ready to give her heart to him while human, surely it meant he felt the same…"

Shut up and leave me alone.

"But we both know where her dream ended. Yet she still burns for him, and she will never stop. It's impossible for her now, because of what she is. Of what you turned her into. Nothing will ever be enough. Every relationship for her now, every shade of affectionshe feels for another will pale in comparison. Friendship, acquaintance, even a mother's love—"

"How would you know…when you never even had one?" I mumble through the pain.

Silence.

I'm breathing fast and hard through my nose, barely hanging on. The urge to rip and tear fights with the urge to sink to the floor. The internal battle makes my head throb, makes the wooden floors blur, and makes me vaguely aware of the crushing quiet around us. It takes a while before I can actually start to pick up that almost inaudible buzzing sound that seems to make itself known when there is nothing else to listen to. I finally wrench my gaze away from the floor.

It's dark now, but a beam of moonlight from one of the upper windows hits his body perfectly, like a spot light. A jolt of fear and alarm runs down my entire form. I can feel his rage, animalistic and all-consuming, seep into the air around me as our eyes meet. I break out into another sweat. Any other time I wouldn't be this spooked…

But this isn't like any other time.

"My mother was willing to allow an inhuman…thing grow in her womb, leave her tribe, her culture, even her own family in order to be with my father. While she was still human, I might add…I know enough," he says softly.

He's starts moving towards me, and I stumble to the left, deeper into the hall on the side of the stairs, toward the kitchen. It all hits me at this point. It'll be a good hour before Mom makes it to the house. I don't have the shards to help me. I can barely stay conscious. I'm a 3 year-old hybrid vamp who can't even pass for fourteen, alone with a 150-something year old hybrid vamp who I've royally pissed off, and who is a master at practically all forms of hand-to hand combat.

My right hand catches the corner of a side table just as another wave of nausea makes my knees shake. The space between us is hot and stuffy. The heat makes my mind feel like jelly, makes my vision blurry and dull again, but even in the haze, I can still catch the glint of his pupils as he watches me.

"You think you are so special? With your slashing gift? Your family? Your mother's need to deny your natures with animal blood? You think that will save you?" He scoffs darkly again, and I flinch involuntarily. "It's just an illusion meant to cover up what we are in the end: bastard children. Forsaken sons that not even the reaper wants. Rejects of the monstrous kind, and everyone knows it. Why do you think she wants to keep you and your sister way from me? Don't you see?" He gestures, first to himself, then to me. "We're the same."

I'm past talking at this point. I'm going to be sick. The room is spinning. I feel like my mind is sinking into an ocean, and yet everything burns. It's too hot. I just want to close my eyes, but I know I _can't. _I can't pass out again. Not _here._

"No?" he asks, in mock surprise at the sight of my feverish eyes and of me sluggishly shaking my head. He closes the distance between us, speaking in a soft, almost coaxing tone. "We're both responsible for them, aren't we? Both charged with the task of picking up the pieces, fixing the mess _they_ left behind."

My knees finally fail. So does my grip on the table, yet my knees never hit the floor. I feel something grasp my left arm. It holds me up, keeps my feet from slipping underneath me. Pain shoots up behind my eyeballs, tugging my eyelids shut.

"…both marked by murder from the day we were born," his voice echoes before I sink into nothingness.

* * *

_Present_

THWACK!

The sound echoes in the forest. Animals shift in the trees at the intrusion, some even leaving despite the presence of night. Like a beacon, the shard glows bright and unyielding against the darkness. I let it fade. The ones hovering in front of me glow brighter as though trying to get my attention and earn my favor. Without looking too hard, I pick one and fling it as hard as I can, watching it spin through the darkness until finally embedding itself in the bark of a tree with a resounding thwack. The sound is comforting in its predictability; each time I fling the shard into the unknown, it still ends in the same place.

Something's tailing me.

They're faint, the footsteps, but not soundless. Hell, they might as well be a drum beat, the way they pound the ground with each step they take. They're far behind me now, miles deeper into the forest. It's probably some sort of large animal looking for a meal, though if it is, it must be the stupidest animal on earth. Deer and lions may not be able to make computers, but their danger senses top humans' any day.

Whatever it is, it's getting closer. And the closer it gets, the harder I throw my shards into the tree. I'm still thirsty but I'm calmer. Less…all over the place. At least, I think I am. Nothing's changed, but it's easier to focus on further ahead, believe it or not. I couldn't before. All I could think about was erasing it, but that's not going to happen. She's found him now, and he's not going away.

I chuck the shard harder into the darkness. _He_ wasn't completely right. Mom wasn't lying. She really didn't know that he was here. But everything else…it _was _going to happen. Just like how _he_ said it would. Maybe it wouldn't have been now if we had stayed in Massachusetts, but in the end, once Reni was older…

I keep picturing the sneer on his face when he finds out. He'll gloat about it, rub it in. It would be impossible for him not to. He'll make sure Miri's not around when he does it; she's already pissed off at him without me being involved, but he'll still get the last laugh. Then he'll play somber and sympathetic and coolly aloof, like a soldier that has already seen it all. He'll give me his false pity, tell me he's sorry, and then invite me to join them, offer me a way out, and for good measure get me to keep my shield. Tell me that I don't need to give it to Reni and Mom like how I planned. Not when she has _him _to protect them now. And when I'm caught in his web, he'll start his lectures again.

The sky rumbles. A gust of wind blows my way, pushing my hair away from my face and drying the blood on my jacket, but that's the least of my concern. I let the shard slip out of my grasp as I try to process what has just hit my nose.

And I thought that Nathan kid smelled foul.

It's a mix of bitterness and unwashed…something. Animal? I'm not sure. The bitterness wrinkles my nose without constraint—dirty rag water. The kind that builds up after you mop up a floor. I would know. Angelina always used the same solution whenever she mopped up the cantina, and the end result would always be a bucket full of the dark grey, rancid-smelling water. But the second part of the scent? It's like the rotten cherry on top of the vomit-inducing ice cream sundae. My mind draws up memories of unwashed skin, sweat, dried mud that has the slightest hint of shit mixed in with it. Anything that can possibly make up the earthy, impossible disgustingness that is this scent's finishing touch.

I don't stick around to breath in a stronger nose-full. I turn around and start sprinting the opposite direction, toward home. It's not just the awfulness of the smell. It's…done something to me. Rung an alarm that hasn't been rung in me in a long time. Forget olfactory senses, forget neurons that charge and send the signals from my brain to everywhere else in my body. A simple message sprouts in the root of my bones, like a cancer. It seeps outward, soaking into my blood and tissue, circulating until it's everywhere and anywhere, translating into one word:

_Run._

My knees brush against the leaves of shrubs, feet somehow finding uneven ground to almost trip over. It's like the entire forest is actively trying to make me fail. All I can hear now is my frantic pants and the crunching of leaves, the squelch of mud, the grinding of dirt under superior weight, thundering towards me like a stampede.

_It's all in my head,_ I remind myself, as I see new shapes in the branches of the trees. Menacing now. Constantly moving. I shut my eyes briefly before shaking my head, pushing my legs faster. The world is spinning. No bit of bark is unique anymore, no branch, not even a stray leaf on the floor. It's all the same, and with that knowledge, I realize that direction means nothing. Not when the steady drum of their feet charging towards me is like the cancer of fear that has permeated my body: anywhere and everywhere. It's all going haywire: first my vision, then my hearing, and even my sense of smell, despite the wind blowing fresh air on my face. The scent is stuck in my nostrils, soaked into my brain; no matter how hard I try to run, I can't escape it.

So it's not much of a surprise when I'm knocked to the ground with enough force for me to see stars.

I feel its claws pressing into the skin of my back. It has four legs, one of which is pressed against the base of my neck. It's huge. I can't move, be it because I'm hurt or because of fear, I'm not quite sure. Damp earth sticks to my cheek. All I know is its repulsive scent and hot, disgusting breaths hitting my right ear.

It lets out a growl. Anything in me remotely resembling reason is erased.

Chaos. A pain-filled yelp, followed by a thunderous crash behind me. I jump to my feet, the shards pulsing and zipping around me like they're on speed, cocooning me in a protective sphere of razor-sharp destruction. My hands are shaking. My veins feel like they've been electrified. A familiar pulling sensation, like a string tied around my heart, tugs at me—the shards, beckoning me from behind to finish the job. I turn around. The tree is practically demolished. Splintered in half down the middle, it branches bent and crushed under…

A body.

I blink slowly. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times, heart skipping a beat. I approach the mess slowly, finally sinking to my knees beside it—no. _Him._

No fur.

No paws.

No teeth.

No claws.

Just russet-colored flesh, drenched in dark red blood. My shards are embedded in his torso, sharp and effectively cutting deeper into his already bloodied chest as he breathes in and out in rasping, shallow gasps. I stumble back as he catches my eye. He glares at me with such hatred and loathing, but I'm too shocked to even hiss in defense.

His weight, his breaths…his claws digging into the flesh of my back…Staring at him only serves to send me into a deeper mind-fuck. Even though I know it's pointless, my eyes keep searching his limbs, looking for claws, teeth, fur _that isn't there._ I grasp a handful of my hair, hand shaking like I'm on crack. A familiar dull pain pricks in my temple.

More footsteps are coming my way. My eyes find the punctured, damaged flesh on his torso again. I creep closer to him, panic starting to settle in. My hand starts forward, to pull out the shards but he flinches at the sight. I let my hand fall back into my lap.

_Okay. _My eyes are fixed on the glassy sheen of the shards stuck in his chest. _Okay. _I reach out to the warmth, the intensity, the individual pulses that are the only inclination of their existence. I breathe in an out, ignoring everything, willing the shards to pulse in synchronization with the beats of my heart.

But they're resisting.

They refuse to be silenced, to recede into nothingness.

_It's his own fault for what happened to him, _the beast growls. _He deserved what he got._

"No."

A crash to my right startles me to my feet. I turn just as something huge, furry, and _alive _barrels into me and causes us both to collide into a nearby tree, the impact snapping the trunk like a twig and sending us into the ground in a tangle of blood-soaked fabric, fur and splintered wood. My eyes are shut to keep the bits of leaf and splinter out of them. I try to wrestle myself out, but it's no use. This one is bigger than the first that tackled me, and like that one, it has me pinned. I shake the debris out of my hair, opening my eyes.

Leering down at me, teeth bared and growling, is a massive fucking wolf.

* * *

Yup. I did it. I ended with a cliffie. :p

C'mon now, you had to have seen that coming. I haven't had one of these since ch. 5...

Anywho, in case some of you don't hang out on ADF (awesome place. If you haven't already, you should totally check it out), I've been in the middle of enlisting in the Air Force since August of last year. I was finally sworn in on June 5th :)

So...thoughts? Reviews make my day. Likes, dislikes? I welcome both as long as they're polite.

Until next time...


	12. V Formation

**Beta'd by Squeaky Zorro and Kate. Pre-read by Kitty.**

**Ch. 12 is closely connected to Ch. 11 concerning flashbacks. Just to remind you: italics signifiy flashback's taking place and whenever a character is reasoning with him or herself during a period of extreme stress. Keep that in mind.**

**I'd like to take this moment to clarify that I've taken some creative license in constructing the location where Resent takes place. Prince Rupert IS an actual place, but from what I've heard, it's population and demographic is quite different than how I've portrayed it in this fic (My mistake. Word of advice: next time you are setting your story up in a place that you've never been to, ask somone who has actually been there what it's like.).**

**To any Canadian readers who have been to the real Prince Rupert—sorry if my mistake offended you.**

*** I do not own Twilight or any of it's characters (except perhaps Tony and Miri). The credit goes to Stephenie Meyer, I'm just playing in the universe she created.**

**RECAP: Last chapter Edward took Bella and Reni to his home, fearing for their safety. Reni explored the Cullen mansion for a bit once she woke from her sleep, confused on where she was and where Tony was, and during her exploration met Edward. Tony had a major flashback while he was in the forest, showing just what kind of relationship he had with Nahuel. At the end of the chapter, he had his first confrontation with the wolves, severely injuring one of them, and has now gotten himself in a predicament.**

**Got it? Okay, on with the show:**

* * *

"…_Another legend of theirs says they can turn into wolves."_

_My brow rises. "And?"_

_"…They're true."_

_I stare at her like she's just gone insane._

_"Like…__real__wolves?"_

_"Somewhat. Just bigger. And apparently more menacing."_

Shit.

His snout is inches from the bridge of my nose. I'm holding my breath, gripping the moist, cakey dirt beneath me, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulders where his paws are pinning me down. I don't know whether to push him off so that I can run or so I can start digging to see if hell is freezing over.

Seriously, what the fuck is going on?

He chooses that moment to bare his teeth at me, his growl vibrating against my chest. I bite back the urge to growl back. Especially once I hear the voices and footsteps arriving.

"Holy shit!"

Someone else lets out another string of curses. Rustling of dry leaves, heavy footsteps thumping around fill the air. The wolf doesn't take his eyes off me, irises a glassy brown, contrasting with the midnight black of his fur. I spy my upside-down, wide-eyed reflection in his vicious gaze. I can't look away.

"It's okay man, you're going to be okay," someone says. I tune back into the broken gasps escaping the mouth of the wolf-man-boy I pumped full of shards just minutes before. It sounds like they're to my right. A plan is already forming in my mind. I'll have to time this just right. I summon the remaining shards not embedded in the boy's chest. They begin to slot together in the space between my body and the wolf's, forming a solid wall.

"He's losing too much blood."

"Can't you stop it?"

It will work, I tell myself, even as the wolf lets out another growl and shifts so its nails dig past the fabric of my jacket and makes contact with my skin. I'm trying to keep my breathing under control. That familiar…_feeling—_like the world is shrinking and I'm being swallowed whole_—_is coming back.

I try to focus on the shard's energy as they assemble instead. It's building between me and wolf, just as I hoped it would.

"He doesn't smell like one."

"And that other one did?" the second boy asks angrily. "We don't know what kind of tricks they have up their sleeve. We only know what the Cullens have told us."

_Ready, _the shards seem to say to me. I brace myself, my palms now flat on the dirt. The wolf is still glaring at me, but I don't focus on that. I focus on my reflection in his eyes: my upside down, expressionless reflection.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying this is bullshit! Screw their terms! Why should we be negotiating with them when it's _their _kind that's been the reason for everything fucked-up in our lives in the first place? If Carlisle Cullen wants to keep playing peacemaker, let him. It'll make it easier to rip out his throat—"

I mentally push with all my might, grunting from the strain. The wall I've constructed between us shoots upward, smashing into the wolf and sending him straight into the air and off of me. I waste no time as I scramble to my feet and kick off into the night, my shoulders still burning from where I was pinned, muffled shouts and surprised swears fading as I escape.

I run faster than I ever have, not stopping once, breathing in breath after breath of clean air, untainted by dog breath. I feel a laugh tumble out of my mouth, shaky and exhilarated and slightly insane, no doubt a byproduct of my adrenaline rush. It's almost funny now. Almost unbelievable. The more distance I put between myself and them, the more easily I find I can make myself believe that it _wasn't _real. Just a dream. A short, heart-pounding nightmare, and for a time it works. All I need to do is run.

I finally stumble onto a deserted street, out of the danger of the trees and shade and shadows. I sink to my knees, the asphalt cracking from the force of my fall. Once I've gulped down enough air, I look around; I'm in the same area from before—surrounded by rundown warehouses and rotting garbage. The decrepit buildings loom over me, beaten down and hollow. Several yards ahead, streetlights blink from red, to green, to yellow. Engines purr in their metallic bodies. My fingers leave impressions in the already-crumbling excuse of a road.

Blood. Punctured flesh. Pulsing shards. They flood my vision before I can stop it. It all starts hitting me, over and over—what I felt, the knowledge of what I did. I toss a quick look behind me, at the trees, half-expecting them to barrel out of the darkness and tear me to shreds.

_You did what you had to do._

Blood. So much blood… His friend said he was losing too much blood and that he couldn't stop it. We were miles away from the city. And it's not like they could throw him over the back of one of his wolf friends and run off to get help. My stomach turns.

Tentatively, I reach out again to the energy, the _shards'. _It's like reaching out to thousands of individual parts of…_me. _I feel them here. They surround me, float around me…but something's off. It feels like—

No.

I quickly get up and start walking, heading for the sounds of the city. It's ridiculous. It can't be. The shards that were embedded in that boy's chest can't still be there. They had to have left when I did. Disappeared. They couldn't have _stayed. _Especially when I didn't want them to.

_But did you not want them to?_

I scoff out loud, getting more agitated with the string of reasoning's forming in my head: the memory of how the shards acted in the forest, of their resistance…and how they pulsed when they were inside of that boy—that hadn't happened before. And it still feels like…like a part of me is still _there. _That the shards are still there. Stuck in his chest.

They've never done this, never ignored me out of…out of _sadism._

It's not long before I'm walking past clothing shops. The digital clocks in an electronics store on the opposite side of the street say 11:56 p.m. The lateness of the hour shows. Hardly anyone is around, and many shops are already closed up for the night. On the side I'm at, only one store still has its lights on. A man in his sixties wipes his liver-spotted forehead as he takes note of the inventory, his back to me. I catch my reflection in the store's mirror—haggard and covered in blood. The crimson splatter is still bright against the blue fabric of my t-shirt, despite time drying it and reducing it to a darker shade. I zip up my jacket and increase my stride just as the man turns in my direction. I cross another intersection, not caring if the light is the right color.

_You should have finished him off. _That boy's bleeding chest resurfaces. I feel sick now. This is insane. _That's _insane. What I did back there…that wasn't….I didn't mean to…I didn't want...

_Just like you didn't want to rip apart that prick from school or mean to beat that man to a bloody pulp? _ the voice challenges again._ It's always a mistake, isn't it? There's always an excuse. But you can't hide this time. Not through the shards. They're the only ones who are incapable of lying. You know this. You know the answer to this._

I swallow hard, the venom in my mouth still flowing. I lost control. I panicked. I was _scared._ A part of me probably thought that boy was going to attack if I released him, and that's why the shards wouldn't disappear. It wasn't because—

_But how could he attack? He was already incapacitated. Pulling out the shards wouldn't heal him. He'd still be the same bloodied mess. Face it. Nahuel was right. He may have been a vindictive asshole, but his words still have some truth in them: half-human, half-vampire, and yet you still don't_—

I can't take it anymore. I slip into an alley, narrowly avoiding overturned trashcans and other junk before leaning over one of the walls. I breathe deep, but it's as though I'm not breathing at all. Bile, hot and bitter, builds in the back of my throat. I taste just a hint of copper right before I feel it retching out of me and splattering to the floor. I rest my head on the brick of the wall as I feel another dry heave building in me.

_They're the enemy, _the beast continues, and the thought of ramming my head against the wall starts to feel less and less ridiculous. _You felt it. In your bones. Everywhere. The shards felt it; that's why they ignored you. _

"I never even knew him," I mumble aloud.

_You didn't know the men you roughed up either._

Oh, but I did. My hands claw at the crumbling brick in front of me, as images of every single human I've beaten-up keeps flitting through my mind. Amidst the images, something else leaks out—a shadow of a certain _feeling_—something that shouldn't exist but still lingers in the darkest corners of my mind, ever since I started playing this "vigilante game." But no. I can't feel _that _right now. I _won't. _What I did to those _men…_wasn't the same as what I did to that wolf-boy. I never lost control when I confronted them…

Those…_men._ I let out a dry laugh, despite the present. You could hardly call them men. They varied—race, height, hair color—but they all had the same face. They all had the same smell. The same _eyes. _Most people can't tell. They don't notice the little things: the hungry spark in their pupils, the way they walk—a purposeful stride, easily mistaken for briskness—the way their eyes are locked onto their victim, watching, excited. the smell…God. My stomach twists. I feel another urge to vomit rear in me. My jaw twitches from the effort of holding back my gag.

I knew what they really were. I knew what they were planning. What they were going to do if I didn't intervene. I caught them. And when I did, I never lost control. Not like tonight…

The boy's image comes up again in my head, only now it's altered: his bloodied chest no longer moves. His eyes are unseeing…

_I killed him._

Those three words repeat until it's all I can hear, over and over. I feel myself slipping, mind in a never ending free-fall. An anvil has been dropped into my stomach. My bones feel like they're about to give away and collapse. I back away from the puddle of vomit until my back hits the opposite wall of the alley, my fists clenching as though the action will keep me from falling apart. An awkward sensation creeps over the tightened flesh. I relax my hands and raise them; my fingers are still covered in dried paint and blood.

_You killed him._

Something to my left catches my eye—a broken mirror propped up near the bit of wall I was leaning over seconds before. I take a step towards it. Cracked and dirty, with bits of its bronze, once-fancifully curved frame missing...but those details go over my head once I see myself.

The person staring back at me in the glass is desolate. Tired. Hungry. For what, I don't know: retribution? Peace of mind? _Blood? _The street lights above flicker on and off, but I still take note of every one of my features: the shape of my nose, face, the shade of my hair, but most of all, my eyes. Startling green eyes, "like emeralds," Mom used to say. Brilliant, vibrant, and absolutely opposite from the color hers were when she was human, the color Reni was blessed with. Green was "unique," she said. It was also something I knew for a fact wasn't possible in her side of the gene pool. Which left only one other place I could have gotten them from.

Before I can stop it, the fleeting image of his bronze hair, his face, and his green eyes— eyes that no longer belong to him—materializes in my mind, teasing me. Mocking me. It dances through my brain for a couple of minutes before being replaced with a memory. One I've been trying to squash for over a year now.

One I no longer try to resist.

_Where am I?_

_Too dark. Too weird. Am I hallucinating? I'm sitting. Blood tingles in the back of my throat. I see eyes in front of me—dark brown. _

_A shiver runs down my spine. Everything starts to come back. His words… I feel the whoosh as my heart drops into my stomach and my blood turns to ice. I try to swallow. The taste of blood still coats my tongue, but something else, too. Something…medicinal? And why isn't my head pounding?_

"…_What did you…give me?" I croak, my mind like molasses._

"_Something Miri has been toying with. It'll take care of your…headaches."_

_I try to rise out of my seat, but he stops me, pushing me back down. I watch his dark form move behind me, both hands now on my shoulders, firmly keeping me seated. His fingers claw into my flesh. I might as well be strapped down in the chair with steel restraints._

_I look around. I'm in the center of the kitchen. The stove is illuminated, thanks to the moonlight streaming in from the sink window behind us._

"_Let me o-out."My voice cracks. I feel my cheeks burn in humiliation and shame at my slip._

"_I could have left you there…in the hallway," he says, ignoring me and not letting up his grip. "I should have. You've been nothing but a nuisance since the moment you came crashing into our lives…"_

_I try to move again, but he pushes me back down, harder this time. I hear the legs of the chair creak in protest._

"_Such a mouth on you, I swear." His right hand claws deeper into the meat of my shoulder. I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the pain. "It almost made me forget why I came here in the first place."_

_The grip on my shoulders disappears. He's in front of me now, eye to eye, his hands gripping the back of my seat so I'm trapped between his arms. I flinch at his sudden appearance. We stare at each other for a bit. I count the seconds, while another part of my mind tries to put together what he's just said._

"…_What are you—" I try to begin, but he cuts me off. _

"_You can't tell me that you're content with this—hiding in plain sight, wasting your gift… Not when you could be using it to protect them. Protect _her_. Oscar isn't the type to share," Nahuel says softly._

_My heart skips a beat. Mentioning _his_ name does it, is enough to take me back to that day: the helplessness, the terror. Not being able to move. I grip the edges of my seat, trying to hold onto reality. I don't want to lose it. I don't want to give him the satisfaction._

_But it passes when the real meaning of his words sink in. _

"_Especially when he finds something that he's remotely interested in obtaining—"_

_I let out a hateful snarl, muscles tensing. I'm still too weak for the shards to return, but right now I can't bring myself to care. I'd rather have the satisfaction of pummeling his face with my fists. _

_But he's quicker; the minute I jump out of my seat to charge at him he takes several steps back, sidestepping me when I get too close. Just as I miss him, I feel the back of my shirt being violently tugged back, pulling me along. I get a brief glimpse of his face before his fist collides with the left side of my jaw, and my right cheek is meeting cold stone. I see stars…_

_I groan, clawing at the smooth tile of the floor, the taste of my own blood coppery and wrong. I open my eyes, disoriented. Shadows and darkness. The cold, the silence is overwhelming and unending. I feel like I'm in a vacuum of nothingness, waiting for something to end me in a flash of pain…just like before. _

_I can still hear Nahuel, though. That's how I know I'm not there, in the fields, waiting for them to lay their last blow. He walks around me, circling me. The sound of my labored breathing fills the air. _

_Reality isn't much better than the nightmare. At least, not right now._

"_I'm not my father. I can't see a person's deepest desire. But I don't need it to see Oscar's. And once he gets what he wants, he'll set his sights on the rest of you, wherever you may be."_

_I close my eyes again, shaking my head. Maybe this is a nightmare. It's dark. Of course it's dark. Darkness is the very definition of nightmares isn't it? That's right. I'm just having a nightmare. I passed out after Nahuel said what he wanted to say, and I'm still by the stairs. Probably lying in a puddle of my own puke. _

"_Jennifer isn't infallible. Her protection isn't guaranteed. He'll find a way around her one way or another, and when that happens, you'll be on your own…and your mother and sister's deaths will be on your head. "_

_I feel him kneel beside me. My eyes pop open, meeting his dead, dark brown eyes. It's all different from before, the fear. It grips me hard, rises with each breath I take, choking me. I look away, trying to curl into myself, only to have him grab my chin and force me to look at him. _

"_Stop," I mumble, trying to shake myself out of his grip. The coldness in his expression doesn't change._

"_You've been shielded long enough. I've seen what you can do. What Miri can do." His hand leaves my chin and moves up to the side of my head where my skull was split open. _

_His hand _there _is what does it. Suddenly it's like my senses have been magnified by the thousand. Made hyperaware—from the feeling of his hand on my scalp to the sound of the tiny drops of water leaking out of the faucet in the sink above; I see, smell, hear, and _feel _everything._

_And it's too much._

_My breathing hitches as memories mixed with Nahuel's silhouette above me hit my brain again and again—punches, kicks, bones snapping, torrents of blood. Sweet chaos that makes my world go around until it all bleeds together in a never-ending, kaleidoscope of pain and terror._

"_So much fear…" he says softly. My body is strung tight, like a wire, while my eyes are unable to look away from his. "So much pain. And with no way to escape it. Battered and broken."_

_Broken…_

_For some reason, that word snaps me out of my stupor. I shake him off, disgusted, crawling away from him until I'm huddled near the kitchen counter at the far corner of the room. At the same time, I try to force away the memories he brought back. He seemingly melts into the shadows, like a magic act, and I know without a doubt he's enjoying this, no matter what the deadness in his eyes say. This is a game. It's always been a game, even if I couldn't see it before. But I recognize it now. I recognize the illusion, the game he's playing, but even the knowledge of what he's doing doesn't help._

_If anything, knowing only makes it worse. _

"_You fear for your family…and my sister, because of my father and siblings. You fear that your mother is too broken and will never truly heal; you fear what she may do if she ever meets your father again. But most of all, you fear yourself."_

_His words, no, his _declaration_ rings strongly in this small room, the energy in its meaning permeating the air. Typical, unassuming people would choke on it and eventually swallow it all in the end. Without question or fight. Like an old man at the end of his rope, finally having his first and last meeting with the reaper. _

"_But it doesn't have to be this way," he suddenly says softly. "I can teach you how to control it all. I can help you—"_

"_You've helped enough."_

_I sit up, leaning back against the cabinet door. Even though I can't see his face, I still have the strength to feel incredulity. And be pissed off. It all burns through me, chasing away the intoxicating fear his presence seems to excrete. It protects me: a shield the typical and unassuming don't have._

"_You think I don't know what you're doing?" I ask him quietly._

_He doesn't respond. With new fervor, I spit out a glob of venom and blood at my side before continuing._

"_All this talk about my mother and Miri, and you think that I wouldn't catch on? You forgot one of your rules: never let your enemy know what you're capable of. And I haven't forgotten." I tap my temple with my index finger, positive he can see me even if I can't see him. "I know what you can do too." _

_Another dizzy spell hits. The weird blood he fed me after I fainted is wearing off. I sigh, resting the back of my head against the cabinet door. _

"…_You think your fears are not correct?" he finally says. _

"_It's just that: fear," I retort softly. I pick myself up from the floor, leaning back against the counter, fingers curling around the edges for support while the dizziness threatens to drag me back down. "It's not real. I'm just working myself up, and you're making it worse…as always."_

"_No."_

_He suddenly appears in front of me again, inches away, looking down at me, face twisted in loathing. _

"_Not always. Don't you know what the purpose of fear is? To warn us. It's an instinct, meant to protect. I simply see what your brain is trying to protect you from, and I must say, it's spot on. You should fear all of this. You should heed what I've been telling you. What your brain has been trying to say to you…"_

_Not breaking eye contact with him, I shake my head._

"_You're so full of it—"_

_SLAM! _

_It happens in the blink of an eye. One second I'm leaning against the countertop, the next, I'm suspended in the air by the collar of my shirt, pressed against the adjacent wall. His furious breaths hit me square in the face. I grasp his wrist in what? Fear? Warning? I don't know. That crazy, dangerous look is in his eyes again. _

_Fear, then._

"_I know you, Anthony," he hisses. "I don't need my gift to see into your soul. We're the same, and a part of you knows it too. Just like a part of you knows that this hiding game your mother is trying to play is fruitless. I _see_ the bloodlust in you, boy. The savagery itching to break free, burning in your eyes. The need to attack, to rip and tear, to protect what's yours—" _

"_W-what are you talking about?" A cold sweat has broken over my skin, making my grip on him slippery._

"_Please. Enough with the denial. Your mother may pretend all she wants that she is still human, that their concepts of right and wrong still apply to her—she can afford to, her slate is technically still clean—but you?" He tilts his head. "You're far from pristine."_

_Anger rises in me. I swear. Curse at him with every name under the moon that I can think of, spit threats at him until even I can't understand what I'm saying, and I'm lost in my fight…until a question slips from my lips. Something that's been eating away at me and at the same time has been sleeping, undisturbed, for months. Something that maybe I knew was going to be asked, that should have been asked a long time ago. That familiar, triumphant glint in his eye is all I need to know of my choice to ask it._

"_I want you, for once in your very short life, to be true to yourself." Confusion twists my face, but he's dead serious. And not finished._

"_I want you to stop fighting."_

_I struggle harder in response. My eyes dart downwards, trying to find a way out. _

"… _And I want you to join us."_

_I freeze. I let myself go limp in his grasp. Again my labored breathing fills the hot, humid air, again he ignores it, and again I can't stand to look him in the eye._

"_You are what you are. It is not a matter of choice. Not when it comes to our kind, when it's programmed into our DNA. The only thing you can do is accept it and use it to your advantage. You care for them, your mother and sister. And Miri. You think I don't understand? I do; you'd do everything in your power to protect them. You _have_ done everything in your power to protect them, if that head injury you sustained from my dear brother wasn't proof enough—" _

_My knee connects with his stomach._

_He grunts in pain, dropping me as he backs away. I waste no time. I push him away and barrel out of the kitchen, nearly tripping as I tumble into the hallway. _

_I'm a few feet from the door when I'm knocked to the ground hard. Wood splinters and cracks beneath my palms and knees. It's only seconds before he has me in another choke hold and is trying to drag me back at vamp speed. But I struggle, I kick and claw and twist and it's too much for him. I'm not sure where we are when he finally gives up and throws me against another wall. I feel the plaster crumble behind me before he grabs me and pulls me out of the wreckage and pins me against the floor. This time one hand is around my throat while his knee is on my chest. His steel grip forces me to meet his cold stare. _

"_Always making things difficult. Look at you," he spits. I struggle harder, clawing at his grip, trying to ignore the ache of my windpipe and chest being crushed and what feels like a knife's point burrowing into my left temple. "Half-human, half-vampire, and yet you still don't know, can't accept who you are, what you are—"_

_A door opens. A girl's voice calls my name. _

"—_when the answer is so simple."_

My eyes go back to my stained hands, then to the front of my jacket—still zipped up to hide the elk's blood. My senses reach out to the shards', nowhere to be seen (for now), but ever present in the form of an invisible caress that mimics a gentle breeze—my weapon, which seems to have taken a mind of its own.

What I did in the forest…wasn't something a person with control would do. It wasn't..._rational. _It was carnal. It was raw. It was _savage. _

It was everything he said I was. Everything he said I would be.

_Everything he said was a lie, _the reasonable side of me says. _A lie, meant to sway and tether you to his side. It's not true. None of its—_

But if it's not true, why did I do it?

My knees shake. Suddenly I feel pumped up, like I've just drained a couple of lions and downed a six-pack of Red Bull's. I need to walk. I can't just _stand _anymore_. _I have to move. So I do. Just as quickly as I slipped into the alley I slip out, settling into a brisk pace as I continue on home.

_He couldn't have known, _reason says to me. _He couldn't have known that this would happen._

No. He couldn't have known that _this _would happen. But he knew something _would. _He knew it all along.

I turn a corner. The tall, immaculate apartment building that's supposed to be our home is coming into sight, just a block away now. I hear voices behind me, but take no notice of them. It's all garbled nonsense to me. There are more important matters at hand. Like how the hell I'm going to explain this to Mom. What am I supposed to say? That I'm sorry? Blurt it out? Drag it out? Not say anything at all? I told her I had control, and look what happened. Look at what I did. How do you tell someone that you're every bit of the monster they said you weren't? A gust of wind blows past my face, whipping back my hair as I walk. It whistles through the gaps in the buildings, through the alley's…

I stop.

I almost miss it. The wind scatters the scent and makes it thin, while the familiar musk of rain water, wet asphalt, and rotting garbage masks it…but it's still there. _Their_ scent is here, that wild, repugnant, animalistic odor that screams supernatural beast. I listen harder to my surroundings, and sure enough, I hear them. A couple of feet ahead. In the alley waiting for _me_.

"What are you, bloodsucker? Deaf?

I whirl around.

A Quileute. Tall. Definitely older than me. Worn clothing. The kind you find in Salvation Army bins: dark-colored, inconspicuous, and unwanted. His hair has been cropped short, like he's done it himself, but it's starting to grow back. He's joined by another. Behind me, the ones I heard waiting for me ahead step out of their hiding place and cut off my path.

_What goes around comes around, right? Fitting. Irony is a bitch, _the beast remarks.

"Remember what we talked about," a new voice reprimands his friends. I look across the street—another one is coming at me, except unlike the others, he doesn't look like he's going to rip me apart in the next ten seconds. He actually looks kind of…calm. But that doesn't really help. It doesn't change my situation.

I'm surrounded.

There are two on my right, two on my left, and then the one in the street. They've sealed off any chance at escape; my back is to a closed bakery, its lights off and its doors locked shut. I swallow hard, trying to stop my hands from shaking. Briefly my eyes go up to our apartment, beyond the two on my left, a block away. Mom's probably waiting for me, and Reni's still asleep…

_At least they don't know. They're safer inside._

But still, that one mercy isn't enough to placate me. My chest feels hollow. A chilling sense of déjà vu, intense and indescribably terrible, washes over me. A part of me knows I'm in Prince Rupert, British Columbia, knows that everything is playing out like it did in the lunch room…and in the Columbian forests before it. A part of me knows I'm surrounded by these wolf-men and that today, for the first time, I met my father face to face, and I tried to kill him…

But that part of me isn't working the controls anymore.

The shards blink back into my vision. Hundreds, maybe thousands of pieces dancing around their would-be targets. Unbeknownst to the wolves, I draw some of the pieces back, enough for a shield on all three fronts, but something's gone wrong _again_.

They won't slot together. They won't cooperate, to my increasing panic. They just float—

"Why are you here?"

My gaze goes back to the leader. He's watching me coldly now. Calculatingly. Arms crossed over his chest. I don't really understand what he's asking: why am I out at night? Why am I in their city? I start to consider his question on a deeper level. Why _am _I here? Why am I playing this charade in the first place—being human, hiding in plain sight—when it's obvious I don't belong here?

But better yet, why are _they _here?

I don't have time to ponder his question and mine, though. My eyes catch their forms approaching, closing in.

"Stay the _fuck _away from me."

My hissed words stop them, to my immediate relief. I back into the glass of the building behind, flashes of adrenaline jolting down my limbs. I feel the shards pulse with power, but instead of calming me, it only puts me more on edge and I almost lose it and unleash them.

_Control… _

"You never answered his question," someone on my right says. Our eyes lock.

"I would have if you'd back the fuck off. Just…stay away."

"Or what? You'll pull that same weird voodoo shit on me that you pulled on Jared? Send me into the air without laying a finger on me?"

"I might," I say quietly. That's the truth. All hell has practically broken loose with me, and I don't know what I'll end up doing. Why can't they see that?

_Because they're arrogant, high-strung bastards full of bloodlust and retribution, _the beast says wryly.

"Playing wise guy isn't going to get you out of this mess," the same guy says coldly. "You're all alike, aren't you? Even down to your smell." He starts walking towards me again, and I push the shards gently in his path, not to impale him, but just as a warning. Enough so he can feel them there.

"What the—" His hand reaches in front of him, testing. His fingers brush against a particularly jagged piece as he swipes his hand through the air. He stares at what he can't see, jaw slightly open. The others have started murmuring amongst themselves in astonishment.

"I told you he was the one," the guy notes to the leader before glaring back at me, solid hatred set into his scowl. "_Why _are you in this city?"

My temper easily flares, and the shards automatically hover to where he stands. A jagged shard is inches away from the left corner of his mouth.

_Just one flick of your wrist and you can split his face open…_

"Why are _you _in this city?" I ask, at the same time willing the shards _not _to do anything.

"Answer the damn question: What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Jake," the leader says warningly, throwing him a sideways glance. Jake's head bows, ever so slightly in obedience, and with a scowl, he takes a small step back. Our eyes lock again, and his face re-molds back into an intimidating mask of hatred. I tear my gaze away from him to have another stare-down with the leader.

"What makes you think I needto tell you?"

"The truce applies only to the Cullens and another coven in Denali. Which means you're either a trespasser or someone the Cullens have been lying about. Either way, they've broken our agreement," the leader says. "You've got about ten seconds to explain what you're doing here."

I shake my head. "You've got it wrong. On both sides. The Cullens had no idea about us before today."

The leader scoffs. "Then _explain_."

I bristle under their gazes, not liking the way they're watching me one bit. I feel like I'm on display in a damn museum…or a firing squad. I swallow, eyes traveling over them as I pick my words carefully.

"We're here for the same reason the Cullens are here—for the cloud cover and the anonymity. Not that it's any of your goddamn business."

"It _becomes _our business when a bloodsucker attacks one of our own!" someone, I'm not sure who, bursts. The others agree, their encouraged murmurs rumbling through the air.

"He attacked first," I mutter angrily, going on the defensive, despite my previous feelings. "He was going to rip my throat out. What the hell was I supposed to do? Go ahead and let him do it?"

"He had every right to take down a bloodsucker who just had his meal," Jake snarls. I don't miss the way he appraises me, contempt written all over his face. I open my mouth angrily to respond, but his words and their meaning soak into my brain, stopping me.

_A bloodsucker who just had his meal._

I look down my torso. I can still smell the scent of the elk's blood, despite my jacket covering up my shirt, but that's not what draws my attention. It's the stain running down my jacket arm and ending at my hand. The guilt, stoked by their first words, finally breaks out, catching me off guard, surprising me with its intensity. I raise my head to meet their condemning stares, panic rising in me with the understanding of what they see.

"It's not what it looks like, I didn't drain him—"

"Save it, bloodsucker."

"No! Listen to me!" I state desperately, straining to stay in my spot. I'm not blind to how they're watching me, how they're all so perfectly poised to attack, and how there is no one else on the street to witness us. My heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest. I don't know why, but I _have _toget the words out, even if they won't believe me, even if there's no point now—no, there _is _a point. I didn't do what they think I did. I fucked up tonight, but _not _when it came to _that._

"I just roughed him up and then let the police have him. He was going to rape this girl—"

"You attacked a human—"

"Attacked," I agree, cutting him off. "Not killed. Or drained. I don't _drink_ human."

"Yeah, right," Jake says dispassionately, before raising his voice to the others. "First he attacks that kid at Oakdale, then he just so happens _not _to drain some guy while stopping an attempted rape? He's playing all of us." He directs his voice at me now. "If you really think we're going to fall for this after what you did to Paul—"

"If he hadn't tried to fucking rip my head off in the first place, he would have been fine!" I burst in my frustration.

His eyes light up in rage at my words. He starts stalking over to me and my hands clench, my breathing picks up, but his friend stops him in time. The boy backs away until he's back at his spot, unaware of the shards he nearly walked into.

_Get it together…_

They're all growling now. Their bodies vibrate and shake, like they're trying to stop something from bursting out of their skin. But I know what it really is. I know what they are, what they're capable of…

_What about what YOU'RE capable of?_

I repress a groan just as another round of arguing erupts in the wolves' ranks.

"We can't have another mistake like last time—"

"As long as he's killing humans, it's _our _business—"

"Who did I kill?" I snap, interrupting their conversation. I look from one face to another, feeling my own twist in sudden outrage. I let out a snarl, grabbing the zipper of my jacket and pulling it down. The mess all over my t-shirt comes into view. I relish their looks of disgust.

"What? You had so much to say before. Where are your words now?" I spit. "Tell me: who _exactly_ did I kill?"

"You know what we're talking about, leech. Don't deny it," Jake says, eying my blood-stained hand with disgust.

"This isn't Washington. We're not in La Push; I don't answer to you," I snarl.

"Can we just get this over with?" the one next to Jake remarks exasperatedly. He's wearing a plain black t-shirt. "We already know he's the one who got Paul—"

"We need _answers,_" the leader cuts off, annoyed. " Details. _Facts. _Weren't you listening earlier? Things aren't adding up and we need to know _why."_

"What's there to know?" Jake asks impatiently. "He's a bloodsucker—"

"Who's eyes are neither red nor gold," the leader finishes. "Who's heart still beats. Aren't you the least bit curious as to why?"

"Not really." The leader turns around and gives Jake an "are you a fucking moron?" look. Jake shrugs, slightly bristled by the look.

"What? There's plenty about them that we don't know about. The eye and heart thing could be two of them."

"The legends say—"

"Those were _legends. _Based on isolated incidents and witnessed by an already superstitious people."

"The Cullens—"

"Are vampires," someone on the left says softly. He's shorter than the others, compared to his friends. They're all pretty much on the tall scale, but he's looks like the youngest. He definitely acts like it, with the way he fidgets under the spotlight. But he still keeps going, still keeps talking, and despite his obvious vulnerabilities, his words only serve to piss me off even more.

"…They're still our mortal and destined enemy. Their loyalty is to their own kind. In the grand scheme of things, the treaty, this _truce, _means nothing." He looks straight at me this time, trying to be bold, trying to look defiant. "We have no reason to trust _anything _that comes out of his mouth. His coven promised us peace—"

"They're not my coven."

"—and what do they bring instead? Reinforcements. More bodies so they can take us out, he even smells like—"

A string of swears leave my mouth before I can stop it. His brave front falters.

"How many times do I have to fucking tell you? They're. Not. My. Coven. And I am NOT a human drinker—_"_

"He was probably just covering his tracks: draining some animals to make it look like he's a vegetarian," the short one's companion says, continuing where his friend left off. He's definitely older, about the same age as the leader. He wears a dark grey sweater with the sleeves cut off.

"…Cannot fucking believe this," I mutter to myself, combing back my hair with my hand.

"Back alleys are a weird place to go hunting for bears, wouldn't you say? Especially with all those cop cars hanging around…" sweater guy continues darkly.

"Like you can talk," I retort, shooting him with a glare. "Check the news lately? You've been giving Animal Control a scare. I'm surprised they haven't caught any of you morons on video yet, with how close you've been hanging around the city…"

"You shut the fuck up—"

"Or what? You'll mind fuck with me with your investigative prowess? Serve me with evidence you don't have? Jesus fucking Christ, do you even do _any _frickin' detective work other than following your nose?"

My words spark more outrage. They all start swearing at once. Several take a few steps towards me, but the leader always ends up reining them in, just with his words. They're perturbed by what I've said. Embarrassed. No doubt I've struck a nerve. Which raises the question: how many times _have _they screwed up, because of their _mad _detective skills?

"You don't know what the hell you're doing, do you?" I suddenly ask them, feeling reckless. That riles them up even more, but I don't care. "All you've got is smoke and mist."

"And what the hell do you know?" the leader spits, finally losing his cool. "You don't know us. You don't know anything, bloodsucker."

"Apparently neither do you, wolf."

He stares at me for a bit, his expression blank, but eventually lets out an impatient growl and shakes his head, turning back to his friends. I try to tune out what they're saying. I don't want to hear any more of it, but inevitably some of it trickles back to me, and it only causes my blood to boil. I didn't plan this. I didn't want this…but they don't care. The doubt I've just planted in their minds is subtle, yet strong, and in any other circumstance, it would be enough to satisfy me. But the more I listen and mull over their words, the more I understand and see, maybe more than I ever have today.

It's the same subject: what to do next, where to go, how they should deal with me… It's pointless arguing with them. They've already made up their minds. I'm not what they think I am, but they won't understand. Why would they? I'm just another bloodsucker to them, even if my eyes are green and my heart still beats. No difference, in their eyes, as long as I'm drinking blood. Doesn't matter if it's human or animal.

I look around me. They're all still arguing, the streets are deserted, no one is around but us. And yet indecision is what's keeping me rooted to the spot. Not for the first time tonight, I want to scream. This should be the simplest decision in the world: stay or go. What the hell is wrong with me?

_Yes, what _is _wrong with you?_ _They judged you. They decided your fate without any hesitation. The shards got it right. And they call themselves protectors. They're nothing like the grandiose, innocent, honor-bound warriors Mom alluded to in her stories about Grandpa Charlie's Quileute friend. Nothing at all…just a bunch of pissed off, self-righteous, testosterone-filled assholes who think that just because they have the ability to kill vamps means that they're the good guys—the ones on top, the golden boys. They believe that what they are justifies everything they do. _

_They're no better than the vamps they kill. _

I find myself agreeing. In a night full of uncertainty and confusion, this makes sense. I may have…_killed _that wolf-boy. But it wasn't without provocation. I reacted. They, on the other hand, planned. That boy in the forest…

…_was going to kill you, _the beast says. _And he would have, if you hadn't defended yourself. In the end, that's all you were doing. Why should you feel shame for practicing self preservation? It's what Mom always got in your case about, anyway._

And my control, I remind myself. My control, which I fucking lost tonight…

_Do you honestly think she would have wanted you to let them rip your head off and toss it into the flames in order for you to keep your precious control?_

She said our control was everything. She said it was what separated us from true monsters. That it was what made us human, in an inhuman body.

_Having control would have gotten you killed tonight. _

Not having it almost got me killed anyway.

_That was over a year ago. And a completely different situation. You had no choice. You could have lost one of them if you hadn't. You had to protect them…and now you have to do it again._

And there it is. The destination my mind has been trying to locate since I walked into their trap—the conclusion that was already written, but just waiting for me to find it. And there's no denying the dread that blossoms in me at the discovery.

_Look at them bicker, _the beast sneers to me, despite my growing fear and panic. _Like old wives around a sewing circle. Look how un-unified they are. Volatile. You think they'll leave you alone? _

My heart starts beating too fast. My hearing has gone completely haywire, only random bursts of sound, muffled, make it to my eardrums—like static from a broken radio. All I can really ascertain is the blood pounding in my ears. And what I feel. What I _remember_ of those feelings…and the horrible similarities to then and now.

I start to move towards the ones on my left, try to move past them, but they band together, cutting off my path. My action catches everyone's attention, cutting off their conversations. I feel their eyes on me now. I feel…e_xposed._

"Where do you think you're going?" the leader asks from behind.

"Get out of my way."

My words come out as a whisper. A request disguised as a threat. A threat that goes unheeded. The ones in front of me don't react the same way the humans do. They stand their ground, and I know, without having to look them square in the face, that they are not afraid.

"You're not going anywhere. You're coming with us."

"No, I'm not," I mutter, trying to chase out the images that are once again forcing their way into my vision. Images of bright sunshine and fists. They're trying to bleed into reality, like before, in the lunchroom, when that prick went off about Mom, and in the kitchen in Columbia.

And unlike before, they succeed.

_I struggle harder, but their weight is too much. They're too strong. I roar. Someone punches me in the jaw. The taste of copper fills my mouth, but I continue to thrash, refusing to give in, until someone's hand grabs me by the hair and smashes the left side of my face into the grass. _

_I'm pinned. _

_As I'm held in place, Grey Eyes kneels in front of me, leaning down so our eyes can meet. His hand curls around my neck. I struggle harder, our eyes still locked._

"_We gotta hurry. They'll be here soon," someone him me says. "Just finish him off. Father wants Miriam, not him."_

"_Alexander and the others are handling it. We still have time." Grey Eyes looks at me for a couple more seconds, his other hand rubbing a fresh, curiously shaped cut on his chin._

"_You gave me this, you know," he suddenly says to me. Confusion briefly causes me to stop struggling. He continues, "This cut. Not even five minutes ago."_

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"In case you haven't noticed, there are five of us and only one you," one of the guys in front of me says.

"I have noticed," I say in a voice that sounds dead, even to me.

_It doesn't have to be like how it was in Columbia. It won't be. You already know what you have to do. You've known since the minute they started opening their damn mouths, and unlike back then, you have the shards. You're not going into this with nothing._

No, I'm going into this with fucked up emotions and an even more fucked up grasp on my ability. In a damn, populated area, with no clue on how I'm going to get out alive.

_The very definition of a battle. Stop being afraid, you've done this before._

Knowing doesn't make it any better. Knowing can't stop how I feel. The only thing it does is make it worse…

"Who the _hell _do you think you are, leech?" sweater guy asks. "You think you can just waltz in here, harm one of our own, drink your next meal and go on your merry way? Fuck no."

_You can't afford to sink right now, no matter how much you want to. This isn't about you anymore. Look at them, _the beast instructs me. I do. I look, but I still see the same thing I've been staring at this whole time, and my frustration and confusion only grow.

_You already know that they won't leave you alone. And if they won't leave you alone, what makes you think they'll leave Reni and Mom alone?_

"He was fucking terrified," he says a bit louder to his friends, "You should have seen his face when I got him away from Paul. I thought he was going to cry."

_You'd leave your family to mercy of madmen because you're afraid? _

A growl escapes my throat before I can stop it. It mingles with their laughter.

_Because you don't have your shit together? You panic about your lack of control, your slip up with these wolves' friend, but don't you see? This is your chance to take it back._

"Fucking arrogant leech."

_Take it all back._

"He had no idea who he was messing with—"

_Take back control._

"No… I didn't," I say quietly to them, finally making my decision.

My comment drains the humor right out of the air. I let the quiet drone on for a bit. It's like the word has become smaller. Simpler. Uncomplicated. Everything is clearer. It's Monday. I was supposed to come home from school, do my homework, and count the days until I turn seven. It was just supposed to be the three of us. Not four. Never four. Not with _Cullen_ or any other male, not with his fucking family waiting in the wings, and definitely not with any goddamn wolves at our throats.

"You're right," I continue, walking back to my previous spot. "I _had _no idea what I was up against… But then again, I didn't expect much from someone who reeked of puke and wet dog. What's wrong? Did Fido get sick when he saw your ugly mugs?"

My eyes catch the way the vein on the leader's left temple pulses dangerously, how _all _of their faces have transformed back into masks of murderous fury. I scan the area one last time, trying to find a weak spot, a weak _link, _and trying not to think about how truly easy this is_._ I find the weak link in the form of the two wolf-boys on my right: Jake and black shirt guy. They've stupidly allowed themselves to be more unevenly spread apart than the rest.

"What the hell did you just say, _leech_?"

_Don't do this, _a voice in the back of my head whispers to me. But it's pointless. It's too late. It might as well have said nothing. It's all gone to shit. I started this mess. I fucked up...because I couldn't hold it together...because I didn't know which part of me _to_ holdon to_._

But I know now.

_Yes, you do_, the beast agrees.

"You heard me, _dog," _I answer quietly. I feel a shard materialize in my right hand, its energy vibrant and strong. Another one materializes in my left. I grip them both as the wolves start to advance, an air full of shards' waiting for them.

* * *

**I'm a huge My Chemical Romance fan. It's my go-to music whenever I'm writing Resent. It also happens to be the source for some of my chapter titles. Not exactly the song's names, per se, but snippets of the lyrics. V-formation is a reference to their song Na Na Na.**

**Can you figure out which chapter title refers to which song? ;)**


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